


A Frans Wonderland: SFW Edition

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Apologies, Arguments, Beating, Blood, Cleverness, Companionship, Cuddles, Cuddling, Dalliance world switching, Danger, Desire, Divorce, Don G - Freeform, Drug reference, F/M, Family, Forbidden Love, Forgiveness, Foul Language, Frans - Freeform, Friendship, Gang activity, Gangsters, Hades and Persephone, Hearing Impaired, Hurt, Insanity, Italian, Kidnapping, Kissing, Lamia, Longing, Loss, Madness, Marriage, Mob Dealings, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Obsession, Pet Names, Pregnancy, Princess Frisk, Protectiveness, Royalty, Secret love, Sign Language, Sleepy sans, Suggestive, Threats, Violence, Wedding, biker g - Freeform, car bashing, celebration, criminal attraction, criminal attraction-verse, daddy monster, dalliance, dalliance-verse, dildo, finger licking good, firework, forbidden relationship, gangster Papyrus, goat slap, gun use, happiness, injuries, knight sans - Freeform, lady don, mild violence, mob activity, myth monsters, nodalliance, overprotection, puns, relationship troubles, safe house, soulmating, tea time, widower, wonderland madness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 40,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: All the drabbles I've written for Frans on my Tumblr, but never migrated here for some reason <3 SFW stuff in this one, I'll make a separate fic for the NSFW stuff ^_^ hope you guys enjoy!





	1. Frisk's Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Frisk is lost, and Sans is less than helpful.
> 
> *Wondertale*

* * *

“my my… a terrible place to get yourself lost. wouldn’t you say? i would. not that you asked. horribly rude of you.”

Frisk nearly jumped out of her striped stockings, holding a hand to her heart and whipping her gaze around the cloistered, close trees of the forest, the red bricks of the path she trod interspersed with weeds and shadows and frilled, turquoise mushrooms.

Just as she thought, there, above her, lay the charleton himself, his sockets glowing with his curious blue magic and his equally blue tail swinging below the branch he lay on. The hood of Sans’ feathered, patchy vest was pulled over his head today, the glowing cat ears protruding from it and his skull swiveling towards her.

His silver moon grin only grew upon her discovery of him, his hand rising in a fluttering wave.

Frisk scowled up at him, annoyed for his trickery in sneaking up on her (she should be used to it by now… he always did that), but cleared her throat and waved back, at least attempting to be friendly.

He was lord of these woods, after all, and knew all their tricks and wiles as well as his own. If anyone could help her, it was he.

“I’m sorry, Cat, I didn’t see you there! I’m trying to find your brother, he sent me this letter about… a tea party that I simply must attend? Can you show me the way? I seem to be going in circles…”

Frisk held aloft the letter she had tucked in one of the pockets of her apron, Papyrus’ seal clear on the ripped parchment, and Sans, flickering in place for a moment, reappeared standing upside down on the bough he had been reclining on, now eye to eye with the human girl.

He looked curiously at the envelope, leaning forward to sniff it as Frisk held back another flinch of surprise, a surge of annoyance filling her at his constant tomfoolery.

He was always like this, flitting about here and there at his pleasure and toying with her. He seemed to like her little reactions, her reprimands when he wove spiderwebs into her hair and her frustrations when he led her down the wrong path.

Sans of the Cheshire Wood was more than a simple fool, though. He was clever and dangerous, so she had been told, though he had only ever told her riddles and played games with her, and demanded a great deal of respect in the Wonderland.

Frisk often wondered why, despite the warnings she had received from Asriel on her occasional collisions with him in the kingdom. He seemed harmless enough, a curious jester that plagued her for laughs but always, without fail, saw that she came to no harm in his domain.

Perhaps it was the queen’s demand that he do so. She didn’t know.

Either way, the Cat stood in her way again, seeming to be satisfied with his inspection of the letter in her hand and turning away to walk, still hanging from the bottom of the tree branch, into a cluster of shadow, the tip of his tail tickling her nose on the way past her.

“heh… not circles, no, that would be far too fortuitous. more like… squares, with strange little wiggles at one corner, when you avoid the edge of the bog.”

Frisk swatted at his tail, already long gone, as he disappeared from sight, itching at her nose and wrinkling it. She stared after him with exasperation, hands on her hips and foot tapping on the brickwork path.

“What does that matter? I’m still lost. I tried to make a map, but…”

She pulled out her haphazard, useless map from another of her pockets as she spoke, crumpled and discarded after passing the same road sign three times, and jumped again, against her will, when Sans’ voice came from behind her this time, just over her shoulder.

“oh, no, that won’t work at all. the trees like to move about, you see, and the path is quite whimsical. a complete section went off to visit its cousin just last week. is it back yet? i should check on that…”

Frisk whipped around as he spoke, fed up with his careless, jokey behavior, but he was already gone, flashing, through his mysterious powers, to perch at the top of the aforementioned signpost, his slippered feet crossed and his chin laid on a half-gloved hand.

He smirked at her temper, the fire in her eye, and winked.

Frisk huffed, throwing her hands up and stuffing both the letter and the map back into her apron pocket.

“I don’t know why I bothered. You’re so unhelpful it’s maddening.”

Sans tilted his head at that, tapping his phalanges against his jaw. An edge of guile flitted across his expression, his bony lids lowering in consideration.

“maddening, yes. that’s my specialty. helpful, though… i can be. for a price. my wood is perilous for even the stoutest of heart. i wouldn’t want you to lose yourself within it. terrible waste.”

Frisk paused in her fitful tirade, hopeful and interested, and smoothed the skirt of her dress a little as she thought.

“Well. I don’t have any money, Cat, and very little else to offer. What do you want that I can offer?”

Sans’ smile widened, the cat that got the cream. His tail flicked in and out of view, a whip that betrayed his interest to a knowing few, privileged in their knowledge of the inscrutable, secretive monster.

Frisk was not one of those privileged few, and suspected little.

“nothing comes free, girly. not life, not breath, and certainly not help. perhaps i will take the ribbon from your hair. or perhaps not. doesn’t seem a fair trade, does it? perhaps something of more value… something unique, irreplaceable.”

Frisk, pausing and thinking, slowly reached up to pull at the chain of her necklace, the golden heart locket, studded with a fiery red gem at its center, flashing prettily in the bare light of the forest.

It sat, warm and practically glowing, in the center of her palm.

“I have this, I suppose… though that doesn’t seem fair on my end, either, for a point in the right direction.”

Sans, from his seat, froze, sockets wide and watchful when he spied the necklace. He was unnervingly still for a moment, even his tail hanging frozen in place, before he blinked, reaching a hand up to casually brush at one perked ear.

There was something different in his gaze now, though… something like greed and longing.

“i’ll have that later. one day, when lost is found and your heart is no longer your own. heh… for now, i’ll have the secret tucked just there, in the shadow of your lips.”

He was riddling again, and Frisk had always been terrible with riddles. She folded her arms across her chest, frowning and glaring up at him in displeasure.

“My… whatever do you m-”

She was cut off in the middle of her sentence by a pair of warm, bony lips meeting hers, a hand sliding into her hair and another settling on her hip. Her eyes shot wide, her body freezing up, just in time to see Sans stepping away from her, his hands leaving her body and his smile, for the first time in their acquaintance, soft and warm.

The hand in her hair left slowly, a knuckle dragging along her cheekbone lingeringly.

“your first kiss, saved for a rainy day, a certain someone. it isn’t raining, and i am hardly certain, but i’ll have it all the same, and keep it for you.”

Frisk flushed, her fingers rising to her lips in shocked awareness, as the monster flitted away again, appearing once more in the boughs of a great tree, lying against the trunk with his small, sincere smile still present.

He gestured to the west, to a small, winding path she hadn’t tried yet.

“the path lies there, and beyond that far copse of umbrella trees can be found my brother’s abode, and his merry celebration. do enjoy yourself…”

Frisk, recovering slightly from the suddenness of both his approach and departure, spluttered, flushing hotly and blinking repeatedly in her tumultuous emotions.

She had held onto her first kiss for going on eighteen years now, and she hadn’t planned to waste it on an aggravating trickster!

She wanted to be angry, but at the same moment, she felt oddly warm and fuzzy, like when she had drunk from her mother’s wine glass on occasion. She felt dizzy and weak, and wasn’t sure if she liked that or not.

“Cat! Y-you sneaky…”

She meant to reprimand him, stuttering and wading through her tumultuous emotions gracelessly, but Sans interrupted her, inspecting something in his hand as he spoke and placing the other behind his head, the picture of ease and contentment.

“sans. you’ll need it later, when you come looking for help again. names are an important thing in the wonderland. use them wisely.”

Frisk exhaled loudly, turning away and patting her cheeks in an attempt to dismiss her rosy flush. She was unsuccessful, especially when she heard Sans chuckling from his throne above, and stomped a foot on the path in impatience and frustration and embarrassment.

“Why would I come looking for you again? You stole my first kiss!”

Sans smirked to himself, looking away from the object in his hand and to the fuming, blushing girl below.

“everyone comes to the forest of secrets for answers eventually. and i believe we traded fairly for that, pet. you are, of course, always welcome to attempt to take it back.”

His offer was made with a sultry quirk of his bony brow, far more come hither than anything she had ever been subjected to before, and Frisk, at risk of turning even more red than she already was, shook her head and hid her face in her hair, for some reason more unruly than it had been only moments before.

“ _Hardly_.”

Sans shrugged at that, turning back to his perusal of his hand. His legs crossed, one slippered foot bobbing in the air casually; his tail flicked lazily, contented and calm.

“i thought not. so there is little use in complaining, is there? now off with you, unless you want to stay forever.”

Frisk wasn’t fond of being told what to do, and normally would have fought longer for answers, but the kiss lingered on her mind and on her lips like a phantom, and so she took her leave quickly, her hand again rising to touch her lips as the scent of teas and sweets filled her nose.

Perhaps it was all another dream, like the one she had had of smoking hookah with a melancholy ghost.

A wishful, wistful dream of a silly girl lost in a land of fancy.

Again alone, left to his machinations and designs, Sans’ smile perked as he turned the red ribbon Frisk had been wearing over in his hand, stroking the silk fondly. He lingered in remembrance, he too bringing his fingers to his mouth, before tying the ribbon around his wrist and closing his sockets for a well-deserved nap.

“…i wouldn’t resent the company, if you decided to stay one day… frisk.”

* * *

 


	2. The Wedding of the Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has finally come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like they've been waiting forever.
> 
> *Undertale*

* * *

Every monster in the world had been awaiting the day since they received their invitations. More than 80% of the entire population showed, the celebration so enormous that an entire field had to be acquired to fit them all.

That was fine. Frisk had always wanted an outdoor wedding anyway.

The excitement in the air was palpable as the monsters, humans, and everything in between gathered, seating themselves in the sea of folding chairs and wading pools and beds of coals. Onion-san basked on the shore of the nearby lake, and Tsundere-plane wheeled overhead, insisting that she didn’t want to be there in the first place.

At the fore of the enormous crowd, a large stage had been erected, empty for the time being. As everyone settled in for the ceremony, a few monsters began to trickle up onto the stage. 

The King of Monsters, dressed in formal attire and bearing his trident and crown. 

The captain of the former Guard, a covered tray under one arm and Doctor Alphys under the other, her laughter uproarious and carrying.

The skeleton brothers, Papyrus in a fine, very stylish suit and Sans a midnight tuxedo, pulling at his bowtie and complaining at his dress shoes. His complaints were muted and only in jest, however, as his brother descended on him with a cluster of golden flowers for his lapel, his cheekbones a seemingly permanent blue and his gaze flicking constantly, repeatedly, to the large tent set up at the edge of the stage.

A fanfare of carrying music both quieted the excited crowd and announced the beginning of the ceremony, just as the sun was beginning to set beyond the Ebott mountain range, and Asgore, taking a great breath, raised his trident, calling for silence.

“Welcome, friends, family, and well-wishers all, to this day of great celebration and magic. Today we see the wedding of those we love, the savior of monsterkind and the judger of souls.”

Asgore gestured to the tent beside the stage, and gentle music began to play the same moment that the tent flaps rose, revealing two approaching figures.

Toriel, reinstated Queen of monsters, guided the human girl beloved of all monsters by the hand, her face a picture of pride and happiness. At her side, Frisk strode as evenly as she could manage, painted lips a giddy smile of anticipation.

Papyrus had to elbow Sans into place before the king, he was so distracted and awestruck.

A wreath of golden flowers crowned Frisk’s head, blooms woven into braids littering the length of her hair. Her gown shone with candescent light, shimmering golden fabric trailing behind her and leaving a path of buttercups in her wake. She ascended the steps onto the stage beside Toriel, eyes on her feet to ensure her gait, before raising her head and finding her betrothed’s gaze.

She smiled, radiant as the setting sun behind the far off mountain, and Sans smiled back, reeling and swelling with pride.

 _ **Stars**_ , she was beautiful.

Toriel squeezed Frisk’s hand, beaming with absolute rapture, and kissed her adoptive daughter’s cheek before joining Papyrus beside the king, offering the blubbering skeleton monster a lilac handkerchief.

Across the stage, the pair to be wed faced each other, breathing heavily and gazing at each other in elation. Asgore stood between them, reaching out to grasp each of their hands in his.

“Are you two ready?”

Sans nodded immediately, swallowing heavily and reaching up to touch the golden locket clasped around his neck.

“couldn’t be readier.”

Asgore hummed happily, and looked to Frisk, who nodded as well, blinking repeatedly at the tears already building in her eyes.

“Yes, dad. I’m ready.”

Asgore nodded, and called to the hushed crowd, squeezing both of their hands before dropping them and taking up his trident.

“Behold, those beloved of the bride and groom!”

Asgore raised his trident, and from both Sans and Frisk’s chest burst their souls, radiant and majestic in the evening air. An ‘oooh’ of amazement traveled across the crowd, and all looked on as the king watched the souls hover before him, watching them with a critical eye.

The two souls, beating as one and moving about each other in a dance as old as time itself, pulsed with magic and love together, crimson and stark white twirling in the air on the gentle breeze.

Asgore observed them for a long moment, his smile clear and approving, before he again addressed the crowd, indicating the resonating souls with his trident.

“Souls prepared by love and time, souls intended to be as one. The resonance is true. We may proceed.”

He dismissed the pair’s souls, allowing them to slip back into their chests, and raised his eyes to the sky. Every monster present, and a few humans, raised theirs as well.

“May the stars witness the joining of these two beings, the celebration of new magic and age-old tradition. Clasp hands, children.”

The two moved together, eyes only for each other. Sans’ smile was so wide his sockets were creased with joy. Frisk’s cheeks were already wet, her heart beating in her throat and her breath short.

In the middle of the stage, their hands rose, meeting and entwining with practiced ease.

Asgore approached the pair, and Undyne with him, bearing the silver tray draped in velvet. She was struggling to hold back tears herself, and was wearing an intensely fierce expression instead.

Asgore halted before the pair, and handed his trident to Undyne. From the tray she bore, he lifted a shimmering cord, braided with red and blue silk and lined with gold. With both hands, he lifted the ribbon of pure magic into the air, eyes closed and worshipful, before lowering it to lay across Sans and Frisk’s clasped hands.

With great care, he made the first loop around them, gentle luminescence of turquise and crimson playing across their limbs. He held one end out to each of them afterwards, looking between them with bright, glittering eyes.

“The cord of the bond binds you, as surely as the dusk and dawn are bound to the earth. Your oaths.”

Sans took his end of the magical bond from the king, and slipped it around Frisk’s wrist, tightening the cord.

“with this tie, i swear to defend you. uphold and honor you. your magic is as my own, and mine yours.”

Frisk took hers, and looped it around Sans’ exposed carpals.

“With this bind, I swear to uplift you. Support and complete you. Your soul is as my own, and mine yours.”

The pair paused to trade ends of the strand of magic, their smiles wavering in their emotion and sincerity. There were blatant tears on both of their cheeks, and anticipation in their souls.

Sans had to take a calming breath before continuing, slipping the cord through those already wound. Frisk did the same, and the bond tightened further.

“partners in all-”

“To the reaches of eternity.”

“our lives as one-”

“’Til the end of the cosmos.”

They traded ends again, fingers lingering in fondness as they touched. An affected wail traveled on the wind at the sheer emotion being portrayed on the stage, Mettaton’s circuits simply incapable of withstanding it.

“this i swear, beyond final breath.”

Sans laid down his end of the cord, and squeezed Frisk’s fingers. She squeezed back, and laid down hers.

“This I swear, past the fall and death.”

A sob broke from the skeleton monster, muffled by his biting at his lower lip line, and lifted his free hand to tie the ends of the cord with his magic.

“i am yours, frisk dreemur.”

Frisk choked on her own emotion, and looked to her lover, her best friend, her _mate_ , with tear filled eyes and a wobbling lower lip.

“I am yours, Sans Snowdin.”

With their words, the cord around their bound hands glowed, ripples of violet light shining out across the stage and the crowd beyond. It flashed twice, pulsing with the strength of their oaths, before sinking into flesh and bone, disappearing and releasing them from their binds.

The magic of the union remained behind, singing in their magic and blood.

The crowd cheered the next moment, leaping to their feet and applauding thunderously, and it took several minutes for order to be returned, Asgore holding up his hands and calling for quiet so they could finish.

Sans and Frisk remained as they had before the cheering began, staring into each other and shaking and weeping in sheer amazement.

Once the noise had died down, Asgore raised a hand over their joined pair, clearing his throat of his own emotion.

“Stars be praised. May the universe watch over all your days, and bless your marriage with prosperity.”

The last light of the sun disappeared beyond the mountains with his words, the magical lanterns hung in the trees and mounted on poles around the field lighting as the light faded, and across the wide, cloudless sky, the stars emerged in pale, twinkling splendor, bestowing their grace on the newlyweds.

Sans would comment on how brightly they shone later. Many would look to them during the reception, and tears as numerous as the heavenly guides would fall for the happy couple. Frisk would outline her favorite constellation during her address to the monsters at the wedding table, even.

In that moment, though, none were looking to the skies. All eyes were on the Princess of the monster race and Judge of Souls as they met in a kiss that would be spoken of for ages to come, and last for a thousand lifetimes.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy <3


	3. The First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing simple about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But it's long past time.
> 
> *Dalliance Undertale*
> 
> (Dalliance is a separate fanfic I'm writing, very explicit.)

It had been eight years since the monsters had been released from the Underground. Eight years of freedom, eight years of progress. So much had changed. So much good had come.

The celebration was enormous. Monsters from all over the world commuted to New Ebbot, to the field before the mountain, returning to the site of their first glimpse of the sun. They stayed up all night celebrating, reuniting with old friends, meeting new mates, welcoming brand new, incredibly numerous children. It was a time of peace and happiness and joy.

Frisk stood before the masses at daybreak, and gave a speech to the onlookers. She spoke of the work they had done together, how she loved them all and how happy she was that they had fit so well into the world. How much they all meant to her.

Her gaze fell to the broad, serene smiles in the crowd, a flush building on her cheeks as they cheered, as the king rose to hug her and kiss the top of her head. As Toriel ascended the stage and began her own speech. As Papyrus and Undyne picked her up and threw her into the crowd, surfing her across a sea of claws and fins and tentacles, gentle and soft. As Alphys started a slideshow of Frisk’s efforts to appeal to the human government, her many victories.

As Sans caught her at the end of her ride, his hands on her hips and his sockets creased with laughter and knowing pride.

A sour note spilled into her heart when he pulled back, respectful and distant as always. His hands slid into his slacks’ pockets, still in his formal clothes from the University. His gaze dropped as he congratulated her, and purposefully turned aside when she reached for him.

He slipped into the crowd not long after, his infamous smile falling away conspicuously.

It was a long while before Frisk was able to catch him alone, after that. He was always talking to someone else, or seemed to disappear into thin air when she drew near.

The dawn was fully forming when she finally found him beneath a tree at the edge of the field, looking up at the rising sun in melancholy and tossing a pocked stone in one hand, the one thing he had brought with him from the Underground.

Her soul was firmed with determination as she stomped up behind him, as she stood beside him and looked to the luminescence of the dawn.

She was so tired of hurting when he forced himself away. She knew what they were meant to be. Had known for years, since the day he had told her their souls were meant to be. She hadn’t stopped desiring him. Hadn’t stopped loving him.

But her 18th birthday had come and gone. She had hoped he was waiting for her to come of age, that he would tell her that he loved her too, at last, and take what she had been offering for so long.

He had only seemed to grow more distant, and she didn’t understand why. He had promised, if she stayed devoted and truly understood what it meant to be with him, that she could be. That she was the only one he would ever love again.

So why? Why did he push her away?

“…i’m being transferred.”

Frisk startled at his voice, turning to look at him in shock. What did he mean, transferred? He couldn’t mean…”

“But… but why? No one else can teach what you do, you’re literally the only one that can! Is it the board again? Are they on you again? I’ll…”

“frisk. stop. …i asked to be sent to another university.”

Frisk stuttered to a halt, not able to comprehend his words. He had stopped tossing the stone in his hand, his phalanges clenched tight around it. He wasn’t looking at her.

“…but you can’t. Sans, I thought… we… I thought we were going to be… more. You promised. You said…”

She didn’t know how to articulate her words, her years of longing and hurt and love for him; he had always shushed her before, told her it was too early. She was too young.

She felt young. Tears were bubbling in her eyes, blurring her vision and clinging to her lashes. Her heart hurt. Something deeper than that hurt too, something she was sure was her soul. She felt sick. She wanted to scream.

He still wouldn’t look at her. He was purposefully avoiding it, she could tell.

“i shouldn’t have put that hope in your head. i should’ve see what i was doing. you haven’t dated anyone else. you haven’t even tried. that boy, michael, the one that makes your coffee at the cart you go to in the morning? he likes you. he’s written his number on your last four cups. mk, too. he’s liked you for years. you just don’t see them. you’re not… you’re not living, because of what i said.”

He finally looked at her, turning to face her. His expression was solemn, hollow. Determined. She knew that expression, and her heart broke.

He’d already made up his mind.

“i have to put some distance between us. being so close for so long… i’ve been selfish. i told myself i was protecting you. that i had to stay, to make sure you would be safe. heh… the lies we tell ourselves.”

Frisk whimpered, wanting to run but unable to move, frozen in place by heartbreak and the inevitability of his words. This couldn’t be happening…

“you deserve to be with other people, without me hanging over your shoulder. you deserve to live to the fullest, without the constant reminder of what i told you. i put that weight on you. i’m so sorry.”

Frisk choked on a sob, her lower lip trembling. She blinked, and tears cascaded down her cheeks. Sans flinched at their presence, his hand jerking forwards, as though to catch them, but he forced himself into stillness, his expression into iron.

“Sans… Sans, please, I don’t want anyone else… I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, please… don’t do this…”

He had to look away.

“…that’s why i have to do this. i’ve trapped you. you’re too noble to hurt me by being with someone else. you know what it would do to me, what it would make me into. you’re too kind. too generous. you love too much, and i used that to make you think you could only have me.”

Frisk gasped at the accusations, at the bitterness for himself and the edge of hatred that entered his words, her mouth popping open in shock.

“No! That’s not true! You didn’t… you didn’t manipulate me, you never even mentioned anything about it after that night! I made the decision, based on feelings I had already had! This is my decision!”

Sans snorted, dropping his sockets and stowing the rock in his pants pocket.

“and this is my decision. i won’t hurt you anymore by forcing this, whether you think i am or not. i never meant to, but the fact remains. i won’t make you be with me because you think you have to be.”

Frisk stubbornly straightened her back, reaching up to tear her locket from her neck. The golden locket she had gotten so long ago in the Underground, that she had worn ceaselessly since the day she had freed them all. She shook it at him, her temper rising.

“You never made me think anything, Sans the skeleton. You never made me do anything! See this? Monsters do this, right? Give each other personal items, to show that they belong together. That they’re devoted, and mean to stay together forever. Right? Right?”

She threw the necklace at him, shocking him into scrambling to catch it. Her tears were angry now, her teeth clenched and her heart thumping erratically in her chest.

“There! That’s my promise, and you can rest assured I mean it. Do I do things for no reason, Sans? No! I am more than just determined to be with you. I’m set on it. I don’t. Want. Michael. I don’t. Want. MK. I love you, god damnit, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to prove it!”

She breathed heavily in the wake of her tirade, staring at Sans and blinking repeatedly. He stared back, the chain of her necklace dangling from his hand. He looked down at it, something close to awe and desire entering his gaze even as he held it back out to her.

“…frisk, i… you still don’t fully understand. i’m afraid. of so much. afraid that you’ll regret this, after time has passed. that you’ll change your mind, and see that i didn’t give you the freedom you deserved. becoming soulmates… bonding our magics… it’s not reversible. it’s permanent. i don’t want you to resent me. you deserve so much more than that.”

Frisk shook her head, shuffling a step closer to him. She reached out to him, closing his fingers around the necklace firmly.

“How could I ever resent you? You’ve never done anything to make me, besides trying to push me away. I know you, Sans. I like what I know about you.”

Incredible guilt and pain swept across his expression, making him flinch in the intensity of his cloistered emotion. He clutched the necklace, turning his face down and away; his shoulders slumped, and the lights in his sockets burned out.

“…you don’t know everything.”

Frisk had seen this expression on him before. She hated it, that there was something within him that ate at him so obviously and painfully. That there was something that he wouldn’t tell her that was hurting him so much that he literally despised himself over it.

In time, she would help him, just how he had always helped her. He just had to let her.

She stepped even closer, ducking to meet the line of his gaze. He glanced up at her, something wet shining along the edges of his still empty sockets.

“Would you ever hurt me?”

His entire body jolted, and his head jerked up. A grimace of firm denial stole away his frown, and his magic snapped to life in his sockets.

“never.”

She nodded, encouraged. She had already known that answer, to the depths of her soul. She trusted him implicitly. Nothing could break that.

“Would you take care of me, and let me take care of you?”

Sans inspected her, his furious reaction dying down. He sent her a sad smile, something like resignation sinking into his expression. He reached out his unladen hand, and brushed an angry tear track from her cheek.

Her heart jumped in her chest, heat and love pumping through her veins.

“always.”

Frisk reached up to take his hand, squeezing her fingers between his.

“Would you stop loving me just because time has passed?”

He let out a quiet sigh, carried on the same breath as a rueful chuckle. He clenched her palm, and lifted her hand to his own face; he rubbed his cheekbone against the back, gazing in her eyes sincerely.

“impossible.”

It nearly stole her breath away, his calm, steady assertion. She reached a finger out to brush the living bone of his face, wiping away his own tears.

“Same goes double for me. I love you. That’s never going to change.”

He met her gaze for a long, heavy moment, looking for something within her. The only sounds were the crowd beyond the tree, the birds waking with the sun, and her own beating heart, awaiting his response.

He must have found what he was looking for, because he snorted, shaking his head and rolling the lights in his sockets. He dropped her hand away from his face, but didn’t release her, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand.

“…you’re so damn determined. it’s like arguing with the sun.”

His tone was both sarcastic and loving at the same moment, and Frisk couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to cup his cheekbone with her free hand.

“So why bother? You know I’ll win.”

Sans made a sound of exasperation, sending the human girl a light glare.

“frisk. i’m serious. we do this… you’re going to have to leave me. i won’t be able to leave you.”

Frisk blew a raspberry, placing her hand on her hip and scowling at the monster beside her.

“Can we stop talking about the end at the beginning? An end we don’t even know will happen? I don’t want to know the future. I just want to know right now.”

Sans looked her over critically, tense and withdrawn. He had always been good at running. He’d been prepared to again, and now had no reason to. It was different. It was scary. He wanted this, but the fear remained.

There was still so much more to do. So much to tell her, and so much progress they had to make.

They’d do it together. It didn’t have to be just him, like it always had been before. Wasn’t that what soul mating was all about?

It was time to let go.

“…can’t blame you. alright. you’re right. let’s live here and now. …will you help me put this on?”

He held out the necklace again, this time in acceptance. Frisk’s smile was like the sun as she took it from his hand, fumbling and shaking her hand loose of his to walk behind him and thread the chain around his cervical vertebrae, doing up the clasp with shaking fingers.

She rounded him to admire it with her heart leaping in her chest, smiling up at him hopefully.

“Do you have one for me?”

He laughed sheepishly, one hand dropping to his pocket and the other rising to scratch the back of his skull.

“heh. i didn’t really plan ahead… it’s gonna take awhile. but it’ll be worth it.”

Frisk was happy to wait. Just knowing that he had finally agreed… that they were finally starting on the path of them, just them, together… it made her happier than she’d ever been in her life.

She was practically glowing, and hopped on the balls of her feet energetically, biting her lower lip and looking up the few inches that separated their heights eagerly.

She twisted her fingers together, sudden shyness pulling at her bravery. She dropped her chin, glancing up at him through her eyelashes as he touched and admired the locket around his neck.

“…kiss me?”

He hummed beneath his breath, the first real smile he’d worn that morning growing across his face. He dropped the charm around his neck, and stepped up to her, raising a hand to brush her hair from her face, to lift her chin.

“don’t think i could live another minute without it.”

It wasn’t what she had expected, when she had spent years dreaming of getting to kiss him. The bone around his exposed teeth was malleable and transformative, and moved with her own lips when their mouths met, but it was still hard, and a little scrapey.

He surprised her in his ability to meet her lips’ motions, her arms rounding his neck and his pulling her close from his hands’ perch on her hips; she was a little more energetic than him, excited and eager to taste him, and he let her with the rumble of a laugh in his ribcage, parting his teeth and summoning his magic to meet her exploring tongue with his.

His magic had a strange taste to it, electric and redolent of the mint of his toothpaste and funnel cake and dripping with a thick liquid that tingled against her tongue, but it certainly wasn’t unpleasant. He definitely wasn’t complaining about the taste of her, lost to her softness and heady scent.

Both were breathless and a little hot when they finally separated, trading smaller kisses and stroking each other and cuddling close together under the watchful light of the rising sun, he playing with her hair and she clinging to the hem of his tweed jacket.

They stood together in silence for a time, simply existing and swaying with the light breeze, before Sans sighed, glancing down at Frisk and grinning.

“guess i better get to the school and cancel that transfer, huh.”

“You’d better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys, hope you enjoyed!


	4. Goats in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asriel doesn't like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't like this at all.
> 
> *Undertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I crave for a Frans scenario in which Asriel ends up getting in Sans’ room but the skeleton was actually expecting Frisk there.

* * *

The sleepover had quieted down hours before, snoring bundles of blankets and pillows littering the skeleton brothers’ living room floor under the light of the muted television. Only two of the participants were still awake, and were whispering to each other urgently, sending glances at the set of stairs that led to the second floor, one with hesitation, and the other with scheming smugness.

“C’mon, Azzy, don’t be a baby. He won’t hurt you, and plus, he’s asleep. When are we gonna get another opportunity like this?”

Azriel, swallowing heavily and ducking his head under his blanket, whimpered,

“Chara, I don’t know… Frisk is the only one allowed in his room, and he’s been so nice to us…”  
  
Chara, rolling their eyes, drummed their fingers on the carpet, sending the quailing boss monster an impatient look.

“It’s gonna be fine, okay? I just need something of Frisky’s for her bachelorette party, and she left it in his room. Don’t you want her big surprise to be a secret? Because otherwise we’re going to have to ask her, and it will ruin. EVERYTHING.”

“Well. Well. Why don’t you do it? Why do I have to?”

“Because he likes you more than me. He might _actually_ kill me if he wakes up and finds me snooping around his room.”

Asriel flumped back onto his pillows, making unhappy noises and thrashing in his blankets in a mini, adorable temper tantrum, before finally standing and straightening his button up pajama shirt. He pouted, glancing nervously up the steps again.

“F-fine, I’ll do it. But y-you owe me, Chara!” he huffed quietly, and turned to the set of stairs with a quivering, fluffy tail, clutching at the hem of his shirt. Chara stopped him with a hiss, tossing him the lockpick set that they had brought with them.

He fumbled catching it, scuffling a bit at the foot of the stairs, and stood frozen in place, once he had caught it, fur on end and eyes wide as he looked over the sleeping monsters in the living room.

Papyrus snorted, rolling over onto Undyne and scratching his ribs, but other than that, no one stirred, and Asriel stayed in his spot for a moment longer before, trembling so hard the tools in his paws rattled a little, he started ascending the stairs, squealing under his breath each time one of his steps creaked.

Once he had reached the landing, he sent a last look down at Chara (their eyes glowed a gleeful red, hands rising to shoo him down the hallway urgently), fangs biting into his lower lip, before sneaking down the hallway to his target, the only closed door in the dark hall.

Sans’ room.

They only dared to do this because Frisk was out late at the embassy, fighting for a new monster rights bill to be passed; otherwise, no one would dare to approach the bedroom. It was a sanctuary for the human ambassador and her monster mate to be, and the beloved savior of monsterkind certainly deserved her peace.

Plus, no one really wanted to know what kind of canoodling the two got up to in there. Papyrus still washed his sockets out on a regular basis just from the memory of an accidental viewing of their intimacy.

Sans, all on his own, wasn’t really someone to sneak up on either, but he’d been up here for hours, commenting that he needed to get some sleep so he could join his fiance at the embassy in the morning. Surely he was asleep by now (”He falls asleep at the drop of a hat, Azzy, stop worrying! I bet he’s snoring so loud he wouldn’t know if the house blew up.”).

And so Asriel crept to the closed door, shaking and listening intently to every noise, and knelt in front of the doorknob, pulling several of the lock pick tools from the roll of long metal objects. He had learned this skill mostly to keep Chara from figuring it out and getting into even more trouble, and made quick work of the simple door lock, pushing the door open and wincing at the quiet squeak it made as it swung.

He peered into the darkness, the vague shape of lumps of clothes and shoes littering the floor (Frisk HAD been very busy lately, Sans must have let the cleaning go a bit without her supervision), and dallied a long, long moment, fluffy ears perked to the sound of Sans’ soft, even breathing, before daring to step into the room, gaze moving to the bedside table that was his target.

Chara wanted the toy they knew Frisk had bought for herself one drunken night, a prop for their plan for the soon to be wed and mated human girl, and though Asriel didn’t look forward to touching his adoptive sister’s funtime stick (he preferred not to think of the real name of the bright blue object Chara had egged Frisk on into buying), he, of course, had been bullied into doing something he didn’t want to once again.

As usual.

With a quiet sigh, and a paw slapped over his muzzle a moment later in chagrin, Asriel practically crawled across the room, eyes flicking over to the rising and falling shape on the bed that he could barely see from the slatted light leaking through the blinds in Sans’ window, to the bedside table on Frisk’s side of the bed, slowly, carefully pulling the top drawer open to, with an averted face, rifle through her underwear for his objective.

In his distaste, his nose wrinkled and eyes closed, he didn’t notice the bundle of blankets on the bed shifting, silent and sleepy, or for half closed, sleep-fuzzed sockets to turn to him.

He nearly jumped out of his neat little pajama pants, shocked silent and stock still, though, when two bony arms wrapped around his waist from behind, a bare, warm ribcage pressing to his back and hot breath blowing over the back of his neck.

“heya, baby girl… you’re back early. figured you’d be gone into tomorrow… ya must be exhausted. c’mon, lets get you to bed,” the deep, soft rumble of Sans’ voice offered, hands stroking over his perceived lover’s hips dotingly, and made to unbutton Asriel’s top.

And that was how the legend of Sans the skeleton being knocked out with a large blue dildo by a screaming goat monster came to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Choosing Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've always been enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've always hated that.
> 
> *Mobtale G*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Mob AU: G and Frisk come from rival mob families. G is the don and Frisk is the cogsliere for Asgore. Their relationship is kiss/ strangle. Thoughts?

* * *

G pushed Frisk against the wall, and slammed a fist against it for good measure, next to her head. He stood over her, panting and glaring; a trail of golden magic trailed from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin and from his jaw, onto his button up shirt. It had been a good punch on her part, even though her fist hurt now and probably would for days.

She’d have felt superior if her gut wasn’t smarting from his retaliating blow.

They both stared at each other, tense and wary; theirs had always been to come to blows, personalities rubbing the wrong way and loyalties chained to opposing alliances. Theirs had always been to trade angry words, dark threats, and unspeakable loathing.

It was expected of them. Required, even. Frisk would even have preferred that it ended there, an old enmity with her oldest, hardest enemy. She’d have preferred it if he made good on his promises to put a bullet in her brain one day.

And yet here they were, alone in his office, _again_. Here he was, stepping closer to her, unballing his fist from the wall, brushing a lank clump of hair behind her ear. Here she was, her bruising knuckles rising to brush against his jaw, wiping at his congealing magic.

They were fools. Fools in love, true, but that only made things worse.

“frisk…” he muttered, his fingers threading into her hair; he sounded resigned, but longing as well, lowering his torso to lean into her hand and breathe over her parted lips.

“G,” she whispered back, closing the distance he had left between them, and continuing the cycle all over again, the neverending circle they always swore to break.

She kept coming back. He kept showing up at her backdoor. They were bad for each other, for business and circumstance… but so it goes.

Fools. Fools in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed.


	6. The Long, Lonely Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has been dreading this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not the only one.
> 
> *Reapertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I can imagine Reapertale Sans and Frisk separating for Frisk's six months with Toriel- No tears, just a kiss goodbye and Sans slipping a piece of jewelry to her. Toriel glares in the background

* * *

The fall and winter is long on the surface of the world, a wonderland that charms the grey skies in the same motion as it bemoans the loss of the life goddess’ own daughter.

The snows fall heavy, and the nights grow long, but the loss of life that year is forgiving and sparse. The gods of death are in a fine mood that year, and all mortals give thanks for what, surely, is a boon from beneath the earth.

They cannot know that the once hard and cold bringer of death, so cruel and merciless, is enraptured with his bride that season, captured by her light and beauty and merciful soul. They cannot know that her mercy has moved him, beyond anything he has ever known.

They cannot know that love has taken the empty, black soul of the god once so feared and reviled, or that he spends the winter cold in the warmth of an angel’s embrace, bone to flesh and breath to breath and magic, nature’s blessing on a marriage never seen before in neither heaven nor hell, bringing to bear a passion that centuries gone will not be able to break.

But time will have its way, and so the days pass on. The earth turns, as does the sun, bringing the last of the lover’s season.

Their parting kiss, given at the entrance of the Underworld, is one that will be spoken of for ages to come, shaking the heavens and the earth with resonations of love and passion and a romance so old and encompassing that not even the stars can look on without paling.

Neither wish to part, but it must be so, and the hooded figure of Death releases his angel of Mercy once more to the world, his smile empty and hollow as Life takes back its heaven sent child.

A skeletal hand extends to the light, far gone from Death’s touch and control, and his angel looks back to him with tears in her eyes, the crown of silver flowers he made for her, the only kind he can touch without their deaths, glinting dully on her sorrowful brow.

“it’ll be hell without you, angel.”

The spring is cold and raw, but brings new life all the same, and the guardian of the gates of the Underworld sits upon his throne, counting the days to the harvest moon and the return of his heavenly bride.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Baby, You're My Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans loves his nicknames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not surprising that he has a favorite for Frisk.
> 
> *Underfell*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I had this cute idea of Fell calling his Frisk firework.

* * *

 

Underfell Sans starts calling Frisk firework the day he walks out of the Underground and into the dawning morning of the Above. He faces the rising sun, his smile one of true, soul deep happiness for the first time in a century, and looks at the kid from the corners of his sockets before he walks after his over excited brother, muttering his soulful thanks and his new nickname for her. As the years go by, he calls her that more and more often, especially when she starts to get annoyed by it. He replaces her name with it on all her video game characters and high scores. He makes Firework by Katy Perry her ringtone on his cell phone. He looks at her and waggles his bony brows every time that he sees or hears fireworks, even when they’re in the store still wrapped up in plastic. It only gets more annoying when they start dating and he’s cooing it in her ear while they’re cuddling or kissing or when his hand is up her shirt.

Finally, when he casually calls her firework around his cigarette as they lie in the afterglow of their first time, she blows up. Why, Sans? Why firework? What kind of stupid nickname is that? You’ve been saying it for years and it makes no sense. Is it some long running, stupid pun? Because if it is… And he just looks at her with a secret smile, and pulls her close, and runs the back of his hand down her flushed cheek.

“cuz ya light up my world. brighter than tha stars. hotter than tha sun. coverin’ my sky with your color and light and the sound of your soul. you’re tha most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen in my damn life… my spark. my flame. my firework.”

And she actually starts crying, because it’s the most romantic he’s ever been, even if it’s a little cheesy, and she hugs his bare ribs like he’s the only thing in the world, and he hugs her back just the same, because she _is_ his everything… before he lowers his hand to her ass and squeezes and utterly ruins the moment.

“plus, your ass is fuckin’ _bangin’.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Thy Cup Runneth Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is a cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or tea, in Frisk's case.
> 
> *Underfell*

* * *

It was a particularly cold winter morning, frost clinging to the window panes and the chill wind battering against the sides of the house, but the fire crackling in the hearth was warm, as cozy as the blanket around Frisk’s shoulders, and she was content, laying back against the pillow she had dragged downstairs with her and stroking lovingly over her distended belly.

The baby must be sleeping, she hadn’t stirred yet that morning…

Frisk was drawn from her thoughts when her hulking husband slouched out of the kitchen, holding two steaming mugs and juggling a plate of store bought pastries. She smiled warmly up at him, trying to sit up to take some of the monster’s load from him, but he waved her off, slumping down to sit on the floor next to her and carefully handing her a mug of tea, the plate of fruit danishes moving to balance on the coffee table beside him.

“careful, sweetheart… ‘s hot,” he warned, his voice gruff with grumpy sleepiness (she had gotten him up early to make love to her that morning, and he really wasn’t a morning person), but still stroked his free hand through her hair lovingly, rumbling with affection and smirking just a little.

Frisk leaned into the touch of his large hand, kissing his palm before turning to her mug of tea and blowing obediently across its steaming surface, looking over the edge at his own mug, which held a much darker liquid than her own mint and ginger concoction.

“I thought we were out of coffee,” she murmured before taking a tentative sip of her tea, and Sans shrugged his massive shoulders, taking a deep, hearty draw of his drink, his hand moving down to stroke her belly and his gaze softening immensely. The baby stirred, at his touch, and his grin ratcheted up a notch, his sockets crinkling happily.

“we were. found tha cup on tha counter; paps musta got some an’ made it before he headed out. you feelin’ alright? she givin’ ya any trouble yet?” he grunted, smoothing his thumb over her stomach again, and Frisk shook her head, smiling and dropping one hand to join his, her fingers sliding between his larger skeletal phalanges.

“No, she just woke up. Must’ve felt you nearby. She’s already a daddy’s girl,” she said, chuckling dotingly, and Sans brightened visibly, glancing at her and grinning like a fool.

“ya think?” he questioned with a note of nervous excitement in his voice, clenching his fingers around hers, and Frisk laughed, rolling her eyes and leaning over to press her lips to the large skeleton monster’s cheekbone.

“‘Course, numbskull. How could she _not_ love you to death? You’re practically a giant teddy bear,” she prodded, and he sent her a lighthearted glare before turning his skull and pushing a firm kiss to her lips.

“yanno, i used ta be tha most feared monster in tha underground. can i get a ‘lil respect here?” he grumbled half-heartedly, rubbing his nasal ridge against his mate’s nose and entirely ruining the meaning behind his request, and Frisk snorted, shaking her head and settling back against her pillow.

“Maybe if I didn’t keep finding you crying over little pairs of socks, oh so mighty boss monster,” she teased, and he chuckled, pulling her blanket tighter around her and reaching out to fetch her a pastry.

“yeah yeah, make fun like ya don’t do tha same thing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	9. Lady Don

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with the Don.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans won't forgive that easily.
> 
> *Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I just thought of a variant of the Mafiatale AU where Frisk is the Don, the one in charge of the mafia, and Sans is her devoted bodyguard. Like, so devoted he'd kill someone for even looking at her wrong.

* * *

Frisk, hands folded under her chin, sat forward in her office chair, staring down the sweating, greasy mobster across her desk. Behind her, to her immediate right, stood a glowering skeleton monster, his hand tracing repeatedly, threateningly, over the butt of his gun.

His gaze flicked constantly between his mistress’ profile and the sleaze across from her, his whole body tensed, as though ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

The nervous gangster, his fingers tapping and cheeks flushed (likely high again, the retch), looked fearfully at the monster staring him down before licking his lips and turning back to his employer.

“I really d-don’t know what this is about, boss… Was just on my route, lookin’ out for trouble…” He excused, even his voice oily and distasteful, and in his place behind his mistress, the skeleton monster snarled, magic sparking in the air as his sockets flashed a startling, dangerous blue.

“how dare you lie to your lady, scum. we know for a fact that you’re peddlin’, likely dipping into your own stash, judging by your looks, and to suggest otherwise is a fuckin’ insult to her intelligence and magnanimous nature,” he growled, his figure blurring for a moment, before he was suddenly, terrifyingly, right behind the slimeball, one gloved hand digging into the man’s long, ratty hair and the other pressing the muzzle of a sleek, black handgun to the underside of the man’s chin.

“and i don’t take kindly to disrespect to miss frisk. so why don’t ya rethink your answer a bit before i hafta upset her appetite by blowin’ your brains all over the ceiling?” he menaced darkly, digging the shining metal of his firearm into the man’s sweaty neck further, and the slob immediately burst into tears, slobbering and whimpering and trembling and likely pissing his dirty suit pants.

“I-I’m sorry, boss, I’m sorry, I know the rules, it won’t happen again, I swear it…” he wept, and Frisk, curling her lip at the disgusting display, pushed the piece of paper on the desk in front of her across the desk towards him.

“Oh I know it won’t, Thomas. You’re smart enough to know what happens to rulebreakers. You break my rules, you upset my business, and you make me look bad. We don’t deal on my turf, Thomas. You do this again, or if the 5-0 come to my door looking for answers…”

She nodded at the monster holding the man up, and he grinned savagely, drawing the tip of his gun across his neck.

“you won’t have any more smack to deal, friend.”

Frisk nodded curtly to that, and tapped a finger on the sheet in front of her before sitting back in her chair and pulling a pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket. The skeletal monster was beside her the next moment, flicking a silver lighter against the end of her cigarette.

“This is a warning, Thomas. You’re going to be on disposals until I can trust you again. Take this letter to Nell, he’ll make sure you get set up and situated,” Frisk ordered, taking a deep drag of her cigarette, and Tom snatched up the paper with shaking hands, trembling and bowing.

“Thank you, boss, thank you… I won’t let you down, I’ll make you proud,” he promised, and, his back to the man still, the monster sneered, slipping his lighter back into his pocket and sending the man a venomous glare.

“you ain’t doin’ that by dirtying the rug with your sweat and slobber. get outta here,” he snapped, jerking a thumb at the door, and Thomas immediately made tracks, still weeping with relief that he was still alive.

Frisk watched him go, nonchalant and expressionless, before speaking, pulling her cigarette from between her painted lips and ignoring her enforcer’s hands as he fussily straightened her collar.

“Make sure he gets there, Sans. Nell should get the picture, but we don’t want to take any chances. People get the wrong interpretation of the word disposal all the time,” she commented drily, leaning into his hand when the monster cupped her cheek.

Sans, catching her meaning immediately, traced his thumb down her cheek lightly, his grin both sharp and bloodthirsty, before taking her hand, bringing it to his bony lips, and pressing a kiss to it.

“consider it done, my lady.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. The Don's Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets in over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G's always been willing to help her back up, though.
> 
> *The Don's Dove Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: So, in the Frisk isn't part of the mob, how did Don G and Frisk meet? (I'm just imagining them first meeting each other in a stressful situation in a area Frisk wasn't suppose to be in in the first place and thinking 'Shit, they're cute.'

* * *

Frisk is the inquisitive type, and determined enough to not care that she could be getting herself into trouble. She’s a journalist, after all, dedicated to the exposure of the truth, and as such manages to find herself, a not so innocent bystander, drawn into a standoff between a sect of drug dealers and the local monster mafia in the middle of a dark, drafty warehouse. She expects not to make it out alive, to be perfectly fair, inconsequential to both party’s interests… but a tall, very well dressed skeleton monster takes a vested interest in her, for some reason or another, taking the trouble to not just protect her from harm, but to get her to safety as well as soon as bullets start flying.

Once the dust settles, the monster introduces himself as the Don of the monster mob, identified by the singular letter G, and strokes her dusty, blood-spattered cheek fondly before volunteering to take her home. She allows it, flushing prettily at being held so close to him as he teleports (she doesn’t understand it, but there is something to the monster, something she’s never felt before, that draws her to him), and that is where he leaves her, disappearing into the shadows with a sly, soft kiss to her cheek.

She thinks (and honestly considers it a boon, though some part of her disagrees) that she will never see him again, that her life will return to normal, so long as she doesn’t stray too far from the beaten path… until she receives a call, at the office, the very next day, inviting her to an interview with the boss of the monster mob, who is currently being held at the police station for questioning.

And that’s a call she simply cannot refuse.

The don surprises Frisk with his charm and class, which is hard to pull off while wearing steel bracelets and through cell bars. He tells her what she wants, though not without an inordinate, if flattering, amount of flirting thrown into his words, but her interview is interrupted before they can finish. The police have once again failed to find any evidence of his crime within their time limit, and they have to free him.

He is smirking and self-satisfied as he walks out of the prison yet again, greeting the officers by name and asking after their families and schooling, before taking Frisk by the hand, kissing her knuckles, and asking her to do him the honor of accompanying him to dinner.

They finish their interview over a fine alfredo, though she has a great deal of trouble concentrating, considering his heated glances and the touch of his bony fingers to the back of her hand (which she does not discourage), and much to her shame, lets him into her home afterwards for “a cup of coffee”.

She is disappointed when she finds him gone the next morning, but when she walks downstairs to make herself some sad, morning after toast and cereal, finds a large, expensive bouquet of lilies on her table, beside an eloquent, apologetic letter with his number written on the bottom, promising her that he _will_ see her again, the moment that she wishes it.

She holds off only two days before calling him back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	11. In Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have gone wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very wrong.
> 
> *Axetale*

* * *

The air in the silent, dark basement crackled, heavy with static and magic, before a hooded figure appeared from nowhere, glowing with electric blue lightning and golden luminescence.

The figure stood in place for a long moment, occasionally twitching and swaying, as though brushed by a gust of ethereal wind, before stepping across the cracked tiles to a long counter littered with shadowy objects. It stood before the counter, fumbling with its pockets, before, with a flick and the smell of butane, a lighter burned into life in its hand.

It worked quickly to light a great deal of half melted candles laid across the countertop, sending guttering light spilling across the dank basement and revealing it to be just as cluttered as the now lit countertop.

Boxes and boxes of clothes, books, pillows, empty frames, and miscellanea littered the room, stacked against the letter and notebook paper plastered walls; a lone chair, wing backed and dusty and mothbitten, stood in one corner, while another was occupied by a headless mannequin, wearing a beautiful, intricate lace and bead wedding dress.

Across the counter were countless pieces of clearly fond memory, a pair of shoes there, a comb still twined with pieces of dark brown hair here, a well thumbed book hither and even a toothbrush yon. The drawers below the counter, though closed and carefully organized, contained yet more memories, captured in photographs artfully preserved and hidden against time.

This had once been a place of study and science. Now, it was a shrine, a memorial to the lost, but not forgotten. A cave of wonder and obsession.

The figure, slipping the lighter back into its jacket pocket, then slowly lowered its hood, revealing the fractured skull of an unhinged, terrifying monster in what appeared to be worshipful awe, his undying smile one of uneasy rapture. He stood admiring his collection for a moment, touching the edge of a nail file, a pot of long dead flowers, a faded satin ribbon, before turning to the mannequin in the corner and speaking.

“i found her, my love. she’s here, and stars… she’s beautiful. looks just like you.”

He walked slowly to the mannequin, reaching out to touch its extended hand, his gaze both far away and present in his mad, delirious, multi-hued sockets.

“it’s wrong of me to wish you had come too… that you had managed to survive. it’s wrong of me to think she’s not enough. but you know how selfish i can be. you know how much i miss you.”

He let out a tremulous sigh, squeezing the mannequin’s hand and looking away, up at the ceiling overhead. Faint stomps and laughter could be heard from above, and his smile quirked, fond and doting.

“she’s good with paps. shoulda figured she’d get your kindness. such a good soul… such a good girl. …she doesn’t belong here, with us. with me.”

His smile faded away entirely, painful tears beading along the edges of his sockets. He clenched the plastic hand in his grasp, shaking and twitching.

“she doesn’t know how terrible it is yet. she’s so young. i don’t… i don’t know if she’s gonna be okay. i don’t know if the hunger will affect her. i don’t know how long she can survive on the little food she brought before… before i have to give her meat. she shouldn’t be here… i don’t want to watch this place devour her like it did my brother. like how it took you from me.”

He let out a broken sob, dropping to his knees in front of the mannequin. He clutched at it’s skirt, burying his face in it and weeping openly.

“she’s all i have now, please… why did you send her here? why did you sentence her to death? she could have lived. she could have survived, and been happy one day. but now she’s trapped like the rest of us, and stars, frisk, even if i could get her out, i don’t think i’d be able to let her go!”

His sobs were ugly and gasping, his back bowed in his sorrow.

“it’d end me if i lost her too… please, i can’t… i couldn’t bear to lose her too… i need her… i need you… why are you gone…”

It took a long while for him to calm, and when he did, he remained on the floor, playing with the edging of the dress and rubbing his cheekbone against it, his socket shuttered and a rumble of content in his chest.

“…she can never leave me, not like you did. i’ll find a way to keep her safe… and keep her. i promise, babe… i promise.”

 


	12. Wasteland Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The don knew better than to put this on her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He just couldn't stay away.
> 
> *The Don's Dove Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Mobtale: I keep thinking of Frisk not being in any gang, but she still helps don G whenever he needs it, such as bandaging up his wounds after a fight.

  

* * *

“i'm sorry, mio angelo… you know i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. i wouldn’t put you in danger for no reason. please… i need you.”

Frisk tapped a finger on her night stand, her home phone held to her ear and the spiral cord wrapped around another finger in the dark of her bedroom.

It was late, too late for G and his games. He always called at the worst times. His entire life seemed to be an inconvenience to her, honestly.

But…

She sighed, smoothing her nightgown and closing her eyes. She couldn’t say no to him. She’d never been able to.

She was lucky he was so well intentioned, and had enough honor left in his bony hide not to take advantage of her.

“…you know my door is open to you, G. It always has been,” she murmured, clenching her hand in her skirt, and he was there a moment later, golden magic crackling in the shadows and throwing odd shadows across the walls.

He snapped his cell closed, a disposable that he could trash at his convenience and need, and Frisk returned her house phone to its cradle, standing to take the suit coat thrown over the weary monster’s shoulder.

She could see his injuries even in the dark, the cracks and blood and dirt all, and led him, his large, bony hand in hers, to her bathroom in silence, pushing the tall skeleton onto the closed toilet seat so she could clean him up.

He watched her from under lidded sockets as she wiped away his filth and his crimes, the guns strapped across his chest glinting under the bathroom lights; he kissed her fingertips when she traced the new crack across his cheekbone in concern, his breath redolent of alcohol and cigarettes and the stale scent of the warehouses and alleyways where he conducted his business.

He allowed her to bandage his wounds, though they both knew he would be healed by morning. Though they both knew that what he had come for wasn’t her careful, concerned nursing.

That what he really needed was safety, a quiet place where he could close his sockets and not worry for his life. That place has always been with her, though he was loath to come as often as he should.

He worried too little for his health, she told him all the time. He insisted it was better, for her own safety, that he keep away as much as possible. That it would be better if he never came at all, to be honest.

It never stopped him. He still found his way here, to the bed she led him to next, her hands insistent as she loosened his tie and her voice soft as she instructed that he take off his shoes.

He cracked a half hearted joke about her needing to take him to dinner first, when she discarded his gun holsters and started unbuttoning his torn, bloodstained shirt, but her snort of tired laughter quieted him, his soft, golden gaze lingering on her nightgown and the circles under her eyes.

She lay at his side, once she had settled him to her content, and watched him just as he watched her, their hands lacing together in mutual comfort.

Some nights, he just needed company, someone to laugh with and share camaraderie. Some nights, he needed love and affection, and kept her up long after she needed to sleep for work the next day. Tonight… He needed rest, and looked to her gratefully as her eyes fluttered in exhaustion, his free hand rising to brush her hair from her brown, drooping eyes.

He knew how much he asked of her, how much he took without the capability of giving back what she deserved, and promised himself, for what must be the forty-seventh time, to make it up to her.

“thank you, bella dea… dream well,” G whispered as she drifted off to sleep, the angel in his wasteland of bullets and dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. A Time of Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about time Sans and Frisk had some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But not everything has to be sex <3
> 
> *No Dalliance Undertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Hi banana! *waves* Could we get some #nodalliance frans cuddles? I miss those two lovebirds

* * *

It had been an incredibly long few weeks. Finals were such a drag, for both Frisk and Sans, and they were both glad to see the back of them.

Neither had had any time for the other, while caught up in studying and grading papers and other such nonsense, and even though this had significantly cut into their alone time (it had literally been a month since they had had time for anything more than a hot, sweaty quickie in the bathroom), when they finally found each other alone, divested of responsibilities and care, they merely collapsed onto the couch together, a tangle of limbs and tired laughter and poking elbows.

Sex could wait. They just needed each other for now, simple and easy.

They rearranged until they were comfortable, Frisk tucked under her monster lover’s arm, legs intertwined and soft, tender kisses exchanged, and settled in to watch the long neglected series they had been pursuing on Netflix, feeding each other chips and quietly making fun of the characters and just relaxing, at long last.

Sans fell asleep about halfway into the fifth episode, leaning against his soft, warm human with his fingers laced with hers and his grin one of soft, restful indulgence, and Frisk, feeling his muffled snores against her neck, only smiled, and leaned her head against his skull, and traced his cheekbone lightly.

This was all she had ever wanted, being here with him. She couldn’t ask for more, and neither could he.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk makes a near fatal mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully, Sans doesn't know how to mind his own business.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: So we've seen what No Dalliance frans cuddles look like, but what about Criminal Attraction cuddles? Preferably before their sexcapades have started yet. I'd imagine Sans would use involuntary cuddles to woo Frisk (but she never really resisted surprise cuddling too much anyways, so it might as well be voluntary)

* * *

 

Frisk was in over her head, and she knew it. 

Her contact in the human mafia had always been untrustworthy, had always toed the line of propriety and subtle threats; he was slimy, two-faced, cutthroat, and worst of all, philandering. She had had a bad feeling about tonight, meeting him alone (she had insisted, every time before, on meeting in public, but he had claimed to be too busy tonight), and it turns out she had had good reason to be suspicious.

She was alone, but he wasn’t.

The burly, bull-faced, grungy mugs that flanked the greaseball in the run down, downtown pub made the hairs rise on the back of her neck, and it was with dread building in her gut that she watched, at a nod from the informant, the other two patrons and the bartender leave the bar entirely, leaving her alone with the very superior looking gangster.

She didn’t even try to slide into the booth Ramon was seated at, lingering next to the pool table and trying to inconspicuously scoot a hand closer to an idle billiard.

If worst came to worst, she could use something a little harder than her fist to fight back. Damn her for agreeing to not bring her gun, how had she been so _stupid_?

“Ramon… what’s going on? This wasn’t…” she began slowly, closing her hand around the thirteen ball and trying not to shrink back as the large men standing behind her contact started edging forward, while Ramon, his sunglasses glinting from the top of his head, only smirked, shrugging his shoulders and baring his crooked, yellowed teeth.

Frisk was interrupted in her question by a quiet crackle of magic in the air, though, along with a hand closing over hers, fingers clacking against the surface of the billiard she was gripping.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She could feel the bone beneath the glove over her hand, could feel the fine weave of his suit brushing her upper arm, could _feel_ his power hanging in the atmosphere.

She wanted to be annoyed he was there, that he had followed her and clearly spied on her, but he had found her in a situation where, for once, she was grateful for his appearance, and she scooted just a little closer to him, her heart in her throat and her eyes on the thwarted looking muscle men.

Pride be damned, he had saved her from who knows what. She could use some protection right now.

Behind her, the newest member of their concordance let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, smooth and amused, before his free hand, light and soft enough to appear casual but commanding enough to remind her of the danger of the moment, alighted on her hip.

“gentlemen… frisk. mind if i join you?” he murmured, assured of being heard from the fell silence that layered the dingy bar room, and Frisk, letting out a quiet sigh, turned her head just enough to catch sight of the edge of his skeletal grin, clever and easy and bright.

“Should I even ask how you found me?” she whispered, sinking further into his grasp when the anger of the other gangsters only seemed to grow, and Sans, his smirk broadening, glanced over at her and winked.

“just cuz i don’t have ears, sugar, doesn’t mean i’m deaf. you’ll hafta try a little harder to hide things from me,” he muttered back, squeezing her hip and stroking his thumb along her side fondly (she shivered, unfairly stimulated, and he noticed, humming under his breath), before he released her, casually strolling around in front of her to set up the pool table.

The billiard that she had been holding in a tight fist was gone, spinning in the palm of his hand.

“no need for formalities, i think… we all know each other already. so let’s hurry this up, damon. i don’t have all evening… and you know i’m a busy monster,” he suggested in a light, airy tone of lackadaisy, uncaring and bald, but as he arranged the pool balls on the table, his body was very obviously between hers and the other mobsters’, and when he swept the tails of his coat aside, there was a large handgun hanging from his belt, gleaming steely blue in the smoky light.

Ramon looked unnerved, sweating and swallowing heavily in the presence of the powerful gangster, and sat back in his booth, seeming to shrink; he didn’t even mention Sans’ mispronunciation of his name, something he had killed men over before.

“This wasn’t part of the deal. You _said_ …” he accused, whiny and clearly terrified, but Sans cut him off with a tsk of his tongue, gaze on the triangle he was moving into place.

“you already broke your half, _friend_. let’s not point fingers, lest we lose some, eh?” he suggested airily, shrugging his shoulders and picking up a pool cue and a block of chalk, but the threat was as clear as the fading daylight outside, and Ramon, attempting to gather his bravery, sneered.

“ _Fine_. Here, lady. The address you needed,” he spat, and reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a folded piece of paper, which he threw onto the table he sat at. Frisk made a motion to retrieve it, but Sans, bent over the pool table to line up his shot, thrust the end of his cue in her way, looking almost accidental.

He snapped his fingers immediately afterwards, though, picking up the paper and levitating it into Frisk’s hands instead, and though Frisk sent the blase skeleton monster a sharp look, she didn’t comment, unfolding the paper and looking inside.

“And no one knows you’re giving this to me? The last address I got from you was cleared out before I even got there,” she asked as she looked over the messily written but legible address in her hands, glancing over the top at her informant, and Sans, finally taking his shot (six of the billiards immediately went into pockets), huffed out another laugh, this one tinted with dark warning.

“misinformation is a pretty shady business, even for us, raymond. let’s not tarnish the relationship any further,” he reminded, eyeing the rest of the table critically, and Ramon paled even futher, his hands visibly trembling on the top of the table. His pronounced, hairy Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

“No. No, it’s good and clean. He’ll be waiting when you get there,” he assured them, and Frisk nodded as confidently as she could manage, tucking the paper into her jean pocket, and pulled an unmarked envelope from the same pocket, unfolding it and, with a moment of thought, holding it out to Sans.

“Alright. Alright, good. Here’s your pay. We’ll be in touch,” she assured the greasy, trembling man, and Sans, reaching sideways to take the envelope from her without looking, at the same moment hit the cue ball into a pocket one handed.

“good deal. go on, baby doll… got a car waitin’ outside,” he dismissed, slipping the money into a pocket of his suit, and Frisk didn’t wait a moment longer, ignoring her desire to protest and making tracks to the door of the bar. Indeed, parked at the curb of the street was Sans’ towncar, and it seemed that she had been expected, as his driver stepped up to one of the rear doors and opened it for her, a newspaper sticking out of his back pocket.

“Miss Frisk,” he rumbled politely, bowing his head as she slipped past him, but she rudely didn’t say a word to him, shaken and drained of her adrenaline. Her strength failed her, the gravity of what she had just escaped from overwhelming her, and when the large monster closed the door behind her, she dropped her head into her hands, biting her lower lip and scrubbing at her eyes with her palms.

She was so… so stupid.

* * *

Within the bar, the gangsters and the ominously quiet monster sat in silence, disquiet and unspoken menace heavy in the air. Ramon was the first to move, glancing sidelong at the unmoving, slouched form of Sans the skeleton.

“We gotta clear out too… so…” he said quietly as he stood from his booth, straightening his coat with shaking hands, and the sound of his voice seemed to break the monster mobster from his reverie; Sans turned halfway, his grin far tighter and bare of his former charm…

And his sockets were empty of all but hatred and murder.

“i don’t think you realize what sort of enemy you just earned,” he growled, fury and fierce reprimand in his tone and the weight of the air, and in a flash his hand was raised and empty, and Ramon was pinned to the chest of one of his bodyguards by the shoulder, the pool cue Sans had held only a moment before pierced clean through both of them.

His scream of pain was silenced by a billiard ball being forced past his teeth, and the pair fell to the filthy floor of the bar, the larger unconscious from loss of blood and pain and the smaller struggling weakly, slobber and blood and tears leaking down his face.

The other large gangster immediately fled through the back door, wanting no part of this mess.

Once only snivels and whimpers could be heard in the dank, smoky barroom, Sans left the pool table’s side to walk over to Ramon’s, his expression dark and wrathful.

He planted a foot on the man’s crotch, grinding his heel in, and grasped the pool cue in one hand, twisting it cruelly as he leaned over the agonized, forcefully silenced mobster.

There was sick pleasure in his smile now, and homicidal magic glinting from his bones.

“you just fucked yourself, ramon. that woman is under my brother’s protection, _**my**_ protection, and i do _not_ appreciate what you just tried to pull. i’ll be seeing you again, that’s a promise… but you won’t be seeing me,” he warned, pure malice in his words and demeanor, and pulled the envelope of money from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

He pulled a single twenty dollar bill from it, spat on it, and stuck it to the man’s mouth before stepping off of him and stuffing the rest in the waitresses’ tip jar.

“i don’t like rats… but i like two faced dogs less. later, deep sixer.”

And with a last, disdainful sneer and a flash of electric blue magic, Sans disappeared, leaving Ramon to attempt to pull himself up the length of cue lodged in his shoulder.

* * *

In the car, Frisk rocked back in forth in her seat, visions of what could have happened whirling in her head and stealing her breath away. She wanted so badly to be brave, to remind herself that it _hadn’t_ happened, but she couldn’t. Could only imagine what would have happened to her if Sans hadn’t followed her.

The weight falling, abrupt and unannounced into the seat beside her, startled her a bit, making her jump and look up at Sans; he sat in silence, cool and emotionless, his sockets on her expectantly.

He wanted an explanation, that much was clear.

“Sans… gods, I don’t… I didn’t know…” she tried to vocalize around her growing tears, her quavering voice and shattered self-confidence, but Sans, his temper breaking, let out a huff, leaning across the seat and pointing an accusing finger at the bar they had both just left.

“was that enough to convince you? do you believe me now, or do you need to actually get raped and murdered to get it through your head that you need my help?” he growled, his former smile a grimace of upset, and Frisk flinched, her lip trembling despite herself.

She could not cry in front of him. She couldn’t be weak. She… she couldn’t…

“Sans, please… not now…” she plead, her voice breaking, but Sans wasn’t paying attention, balling his extended hand into a fist and slapping it on the seat between them.

“yes _now_ , frisk. i’ve told you, time and again, that goin’ around dark alleys with thugs and lowlives is gonna…” he began, harsh and upset, but his voice faded into nothing when he saw the tears building in her eyes, the weakness of her shaking body and the whiteness of her clenched fingers, and quieted himself, concern lowering his bony brows.

“…oh frisk. it’s alright, sweetheart. you’re safe, aight? i gotcha,” he offered, holding out his arms indicatively, and Frisk, weak and scared and alone, let herself lean against him, burying her face in his suit coat and clutching at his chest.

He enveloped her in his arms, and rocked her soothingly as she pretended not to cry, and petted her hair as the car began to move. He said nothing, only leaning his head against the top of hers and curling a lock of her hair around a gloved forefinger, and when she fell asleep, exhausted and world weary, he held her, and carried her into her dingy, tiny apartment when they arrived, letting himself in with the key she didn’t know he had and tucking her into bed.

He brushed her bangs from her tired, tearstained face, and pressed a toothy kiss to her cheek, only pausing a moment to copy the address she had been given into a small notebook in his suit coat before letting himself out and settling himself back in his car.

He handed the address to his driver, once seated, idly twisting the ring on his forefinger. With her around, his work was never done.

“hop to it, benny. got some business to handle for the lady.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	15. Erroneous Villainy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes were made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Don does not forgive.

* * *

Anonymous asked: Mob idea: Don Chara learns that no one takes what's Don G's, especially a reporter named Frisk.

* * *

Chara can only stare, in blank, horrified amazement, when their men walk in with Frisk in tow. The journalist is bleeding and bruised, handcuffed and hazy from her beating and kidnapping, and sits quietly in the chair she was given while the don berates their brainless cronies. How could they be so stupid as to kidnap, and _harm_ , Don G’s kept woman? Everyone knew she was off limits. _Everyone_ knew that no harm was to come to Frisk Dreemurr, not unless they wanted all-out war.

Chara makes all haste to make things right. They contact G, telling him where to find his love. They apologize to Frisk, freeing her from her bonds and patching her up. They shout and scream themselves hoarse at their henchmen, beating them stupider than they already were.

There is no forgiveness when G rolls into the scene, though. He demands satisfaction, upon seeing the harm his love has come to, stony and vengeful and cold. His men take the perpetrators away, to be handled away from Frisk’s innocent eyes, and G himself reprimands Chara, making them regret every tear and every drop of blood shed from his human.

G takes her, then, to the place where she can recover and will be the safest… his home. She very rarely visits there, only to try to keep her safe and away from the “business”, but G doesn’t care right then. She’d seen the dark side of what he did for herself that day, and there was no call or reason for formality or pretense any longer. He cleans her up, his voice a deep rumble of apology and regret for every wince, every whimper she lets out, and when he puts her to bed, it is with dogged finality, promising her that she will never see him again once she has recovered and he takes her home.

That she will never come to harm again because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if she was hurt again, over his job.

Frisk will hear none of it, sitting up despite her bruised abdomen and his protests, to slap him across the face, shocking him into silence. How dare he make that decision for her. How _dare_ he try to take the happiest part of her life from her. That was her choice to make, her right in their relationship, and if he tried to disappear on her she’d show up at his office uninvited, every day, until he agreed to see her again or someone put a bullet in her brain.

He watches over her long after she falls asleep, angry tears still shining on her bruised cheeks, his hand twined with hers and a grateful, rueful smile on his bony mouth. He just had to be mated with a determined one.

 

 

 


	16. Seeds of Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, opposites attract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kidnap had nothing to do with it this time.
> 
> *Hades and Persephone Reapertale*
> 
> Only a little suggestive, promise.

* * *

Anonymous asked: In Hades and Persephone reapertale, I can imagine Sans feeding Frisk the pomegranate seeds. The only reason why she didn't eat them all was because she starting licking the juice off Sans' phalalnges.

* * *

Sans stared, with wide sockets, at the toga clad girl perched on the arm of his skeletal, shadowy throne, ruby red, sticky juices trickling down his arm.

His jaw was slack, his sockets empty and his other hand clenching in his robes, as her lips closed around his bony fingers again, her tongue peeking past her lips to wipe a spatter of pomegranate juice from his phalanges.

She made it worse by maintaining eye contact with him, her cheeks flushed but her expression as determined as her soul, and Sans, under the cover of his hood, felt his magic flare, the feeling of her mouth around his fingers making him consider not just her acceptance of her place in his kingdom, not just his assuaged loneliness and misery…

But the finer points of their soon to be marriage, and how empty the throne room was at the moment.

The god of death’s smile split his skeletal face nearly in half, and his thumb rose to stroke his angel of mercy’s cheek, his magic lighting his sockets with both satisfaction and desire.

She wasn’t as innocent as she appeared, not by half, but he was far from even looking innocent. She was playing with fire hotter than hell’s, flirting with death…

And she’d answer for it.

 


	17. Forbidden Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Frisk always seem to come back to each other, despite all the reasons not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They wouldn't have it any other way.
> 
> *Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Do you have any more headcanons or drabbles about Don Frisk with Second in Command Sans?

* * *

Frisk lounged before a grand, if empty, fireplace, considering a packet of papers in one hand and sipping from a glass of blood red wine in the other. At her feet, her second knelt, painstakingly undoing the straps on her heels, uncaring of the marks the floor would leave on the knees of his fine suit.

It had been a long day for the both of them. Everything that could go wrong had, in their meet with a rival gang over some disputed territory. They’d barely made it out in one piece, and the botched deal had put Frisk Dreemurr in a very bad mood.

The wine was helping, as were Sans’ hands, warm bone against aching flesh, but she was tense, extremely displeased, and considering shooting someone just for the fun of it.

She let out a sigh, putting the paper aside and drinking deeply from her glass; her old lipstick, unrefreshed from that morning, smeared the lip. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

“Sans… I feel like doing something distracting tonight. I think we both have some steam to let off. What would you suggest?”

Sans, setting aside his mistress’ shoe, massaged the sole of her foot lingeringly, gaze drawing up, along her bared calf and thigh, exposed by her dress, and to her tired, shadowed eyes. He quirked a brow, his smile growing.

“i could call out for some delivery italian, queue up a season of golden girls, open another bottle of wine… or find someone to interrogate for you. vince is holding onto our friend pablo for us, i could call him… i know how much a man begging for his life pleases you.”

Frisk hummed, flexing her foot in his hand and rubbing her ankle along his arm.

“Perhaps… But I was thinking you could please me another way.”

Sans was not absent to the inference in her tone, or the tired, sultry light in her gaze. He took her proffered leg in his hands, his sockets sparking with kindled want, and bent to press kisses up the inside, running the palm of his hand up the side of her knee, the length of her thigh.

It was a dangerous, tricky business, indulging such wanton fantasies with your business partner. They didn’t stray often, though the heat between them hardly ever dissipated, but when they did… The stars rattled in the sky, in the wake of their love.

They longed for each other, greedy when the breaking point of their control and resistance came. It hadn’t taken as long this time. It had only been a month, since she had locked her office door, beckoned to him, and pulled him down onto the top of her desk by his tie. The attachment was growing, far past lust and simple devotion.

They both knew the risks. They both knew it was stupid, that it would place them both in danger… But it never stopped them, not before, and certainly not now, as Sans slipped her other shoe from her foot with one hand, the other pulling at the elastic of her thigh high stocking. As Frisk smiled down at him, tipping his hat from his head and caressing the side of his skull.

“nothing would make me happier, my lady.”

 


	18. Lonely Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G has yet to forgive himself for many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frisk doesn't need any of that, though. Just her friend and guardian.
> 
> *G's Frisk*

* * *

I can imagine kid Frisk playing with G's dog tags because she likes the sound of them clinking together.

* * *

“G? G? G?”

G smirked, rearranging his cigarette’s position between his teeth and glancing down at the hand curled in the hem of his jacket, as well as the pair of pretty eyes that it belonged to. He had been on the way to pick up some groceries for dinner, but it seemed Frisk had slipped away from Toriel again, the little scamp, and followed him.

He didn't understand how she could stand to be around him, after everything Gaster had done to her. She kept coming back, though.

There must be a lot of kindness under that determination.

“‘Sup, kiddo? Want to hitch a ride?” he drawled, reaching for her, and Frisk, seeing she had his attention at last, held up her hands eagerly, bouncing in place and smiling so happily that G couldn’t help but chuckle, lifting the little girl into one arm and leaning in to nuzzle his nasal ridge against her nose.

She giggled, blushing and burying her face in the fluff of his coat’s ruff, and twisted her fingers into their usual place, the chain of his dogtags.

She played with them idly as he kept walking with her perched in his hold, always happy to be the center of his attention, and G was just as pleased, sliding his free hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone (and sneak in a selfie with his little pal) and tightening the other around Frisk’s waist, blowing a stream of smoke out of his nasal cavity and grinning.

She was just too precious…

 

 


	19. The Two Dons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger in the room is ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Imagine Don G meeting Don Frisk. F: "Well, the infamous G. Snowdin. Who comes into my club, steals my booze, and causes a ruckus. To be honest, I was expecting more."

* * *

G smirks, and leans a hand on the wall over her shoulder. Frisk’s bodyguards tense, but Frisk waves them down, interested in why the Don himself is here in her club, drawing her attention and making a nuisance of himself.

She doesn’t have long to wait.

“Your boys are remarkably adept at keeping my messages from reaching you. Thought I’d stop by in person, make sure they finally got to you. I’ve had a merger, of a sorts, in mind for some time, and I need your help for it.”

He leans closer to her, the smoke of his cigarette filling the air between them. Many men would tremble at having the dangerous monster so close, but Frisk only reached up, straightened his tie, and stole his cigarette from between his teeth, taking a puff of it herself and leaving blood red lipstick marks on it.

“And what would that be, my dear Don? What can little old me…” Her leg extended to draw up the length of his, bared by the high cut of her evening dress. “Do for such a powerful monster?”

His sockets narrow, in interest, greed, and clever suspicion, and he lowers one hand to hold her thigh against his femur, his gloves smooth against her skin. He breathes in the smoke she exhales, leaning closer to her.

“Why don’t we move somewhere more private, my lady, where we can discuss this without prying eyes… and maybe while we’re there, I can show you I’m talented at stealing more than just whiskey.”

She smirks back at him, removes his cigarette from between her lips, and slides it back into his mouth, running her forefinger over his chin.

“You can try.”

 


	20. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a few things to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complain about, more like.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale, Mobfell, Don G*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Mobfell Sans, Don Sans, and Don G talking about their Frisks. G is the only one to not complain about Frisk's refusals. (And, no Fell, he will not switch.)

* * *

The air is thick with smoke, and ice clinks in tumblers of whiskey and scotch. The private, curtained-off room crackles with magic, alive with sparks of gold and turquoise and crimson, but the three monsters within aren’t there to fight, for once, instead relaxing on low couches and chuckling at each other’s jokes. The guns have been left behind for the evening, in favor of relaxation and a far more interesting topic.

“c’mon, g, spill. how’d you get her to go out with you? i can’t get mine to give me the time of day.”

The don smirked, a puff of cigar smoke wending through his nasal cavity; his glass of alcohol swirled in a languid hand, and his single golden iris twinkled.

“That’s a secret, boys. La mia colomba would have my head on a platter if I divulged too much.”

In his corner, the hitman snorted, disdainful and crass. His fangs glinted in the low light, as cruel and sharp as he; his glass drained to nothing when he drank from it.

“gotcha whipped ’s what she has. bet ya bottom in bed, too, heh.”

G sent a cool glare at the chortling skeleton monster, tapping a finger on his knee.

“That sort of attitude is why your Frisk refuses your advances, idiota.”

That shut him up, his grin sinking into a temperamental glower, and across the room, feet propped over the arm of his chair, the underboss snickered baldly, tapping the ash from his cigar into a tray. His ring caught the light of the chandelier, and his sockets wrinkled in his mirth from below the bridge of his hat.

“she’s a strong one, that’s for sure. never met a human so determined. we caught the short end of the stick, though, you hafta admit, g. our girls are with the pigs. they’re too noble to cavort with gangsters.”

A hint of bitterness pulled at his words, despite his grin, and G nodded sympathetically, his glare softening.

“I was very fortunate. Il mi amore was a far easier case. Far too inquisitive, of course… especially when it comes to things she shouldn’t know.”

The other skeletons made sounds of agreement, very familiar with Frisk’s curiosity and tendency to get into trouble. G sighed fondly, though, pulling his cigar from between his teeth to blow a stream of smoke into the air.

“But that is who she is, bellissimi problemi. Once you embrace this, and no longer attempt to control her… that is when she will come to you, fratelli.”

The hitman sneered, grumbling about stubbornness and headstrong females, and the underboss looked unsure, glancing down into his glass. G let out another sigh, covertly checking his cell phone for messages.

There was a new photo from his wife on the screen, of a chubby little girl seated in a high chair and covered in pureed carrot. Frisk had leaned into the shot, to display her own carroted state, and wore the bright, quirky smile that he loved best on her lovely face. He smiled, his soul throbbing with absolute adoration, before he looked up over the edge of his phone at his discouraged companions.

Maybe a little help wouldn’t be out of place… the idiots clearly needed it, and they were missing out on the best woman they’d ever know in their lives.

He shook his head, baffled all over again at their fumbling, before tapping out a response to the photo.

“Alright, alright. Since you both can’t seem to find your way… I will help you.”

 


	21. Nap Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G takes his role very seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kid Frisk*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Kid Frisk: Mettaton and Undyne try to steal a sleeping Frisk from a dozing G. He tells them that if Frisk is waken up, somebody will be getting hurt, and it won't be him or Frisk

* * *

G cracks a socket open, looking over the fluffed head of hair resting on his chest. The unwanted company, come to visit the kid, stood at the door, wearing coats and scarves and expectant expressions.

Sucks for them.

“You two can turn right back around. She’s taking a nap,” G drawled, hushed and tired himself, and reached to pull Frisk’s favorite blanket higher over her tiny, curled up body. She let out a muffled noise of comfort, her little hand tightening around his dog tags, and slept on.

They made noises of protest, looking affronted, but were silenced by a flash of gold in G’s sockets. They knew perfectly well how protective G was of the little human, of both her safety and her health, and how far the usually benign, careless, lazy monster would go to ensure it.

They scowled and walked back outside, careful to close the door quietly.

G watched them go, flicking a finger at the lock this time, and settled back into his armchair, laying a forearm across Frisk’s back and the other over his sockets.

 


	22. Some Sage Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has some advice for the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She has some experience there.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale, Mobfell, The Lady Don, The Don's Dove G*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Just imagine those three meeting Don Frisk. Now there's a bad, (Or at least morally ambiguous.) Frisk. Hell, I can imagine her Sans would be so over protective. Just glaring at the three other mobsters with his magic eye.

* * *

“Evening, gentlemen… looks like you started without me.”

The svelt, satin and silk draped lady waltzed into the room, tracing her fingers across G’s broad shoulders as she passed and smirking through painted lips at the other monsters. She carried with her a perfume of foreign flowers and an air of power and hidden malice; her shadowed eyes, quick and clever behind the fishnet drape of her hat, swept the room lazily, unperturbed by the presence of the dangerous mobsters.

And behind her, her constant shadow and ruthless right hand, Sans strode with a glower on his face and mistrust in his sockets, one hand on the small of his lady’s back and the other tucked into the flap of his suit coat.

He left her side only to fluff the cushions on her seat and to fetch her some wine, as blood red as her lipstick, before seating himself at her side, a hand on her thigh and his gaze flitting around the room consciously.

Frisk, for her part, lounged without care, leaning back into the pillows behind her and propping her legs, bared by the cut of her gown, across her Sans’ lap. She stroked a finger across his jaw, eliciting a hum of contentment but no less steely watchfulness from him.

“Sounds like you boys are having some trouble with your ladies. Understandable… being me, it’s very unlikely that you deserve them at all.”

Her smile was cruel and cynical, and directed at the hitman, who bristled and bared his fangs at the lady don, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He knew better than to make a move, though; the enforcer at his lady’s side was already tensed and ready to attack, hard stare pinning the angry monster.

G, in his seat, shifted slightly, sending a quelling look at the hitman.

“It’s true, though not for lack of trying on their part, mia signora. Circumstances are more difficult for them than they ever were for us.”

Frisk’s ironic grin softened at the reminder, her gaze flashing to her Sans; her hand lowered to lay across his, their fingers twining without prompt or hesitation.

“…I suppose that is true. Frisks are headstrong and determined, above all else, and if they are dedicated to a cause beyond your call, it’s unlikely you will ever be able to convince them to leave it behind for something as paltry as a supposed soul mate.”

The underboss, across the room, snorted, twisting the ring on his finger.

“there’s nothing supposed about it. if she were a monster…”

The lady don cut him off, venom in her tone.

“She’s not a monster, though. There is no obligation to give herself over to a gangster she has no reason to trust, and that is how it should be.”

The room was tense for a moment, glares and simmering magic thick in the air, before the lady don sighed, shaking her head and leaning against her Sans. Her fingers traced the bracelet around her wrist, eyes glazed in fond memory.

“They are stubborn and willful. They are looking for more than the obvious, for deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. Make yourselves useful to them, rather than trying to shape them to your will. Give them the opportunity to trust you, to see you are more than another male attempting to take their control from them, and they will open their hearts.”

G nodded sagely, still fiddling with the phone in his lap, and the enforcer, for the first time that evening, cracked a smile, his fingers between his mate’s tightening.

“it’s the only way she will ever accept you.”

 


	23. Up to Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is out for blood, or at that very least oil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G's pretty handy when it comes to that.
> 
> *Biker G and Frisk*

* * *

Anonymous asked: AU where Frisk has this cheating boyfriend and G meets her for the first time when he catches her beating up said boyfriend's car.

* * *

“Quite an arm ya got there, slugger.”

Frisk paused, frozen in shock, at the steady, amused voice coming from across the parking lot. It was dark, surely past midnight at this point, and drizzling steadily. The lone streetlight cast a pale ambiance over the scene, over the cascade of broken glass and twisted metal and splintered wood before her, and Frisk, caught red handed in her half drunk, soggy pasttime, slowly lowered the bat she was holding to her side and turned as cautiously as she was able to face the person walking across the lot towards her.

She shouldn‘t have been surprised to see that it was a living, breathing skeleton, though the motorcycle gear and cigarette between its teeth were a bit odd. Wasn’t the Grim Reaper supposed to wear a robe or something? She supposed it didn’t matter much. If she was going to die, she supposed he could manage to take her soul no matter what he was wearing, robe or not.

The figure, tall and dark and glowing with an odd suffusion of golden light, mostly centered in his eye sockets, came to a halt a few feet away from her, hands in his leather jacket’s pockets and gaze surveying the damage she had been doing to the classic car beside her. The end of his cigarette glowed, as though being breathed in, before a curl of smoke wafted between the skeleton’s teeth and from his nasal cavity, carrying on the wind and fading into the mist of rain that didn’t seem to affect the cinder of his cigarette in the least.

“Damn. And that was a nice ride, too… personal vendetta? Not a fan of yellow? Or did it take your parking spot?”

Yeah, that was definitely him talking. Frisk had wondered.

She swayed in place, turning to look at the car as well. She’d managed to dent up the hood quite a bit at this point, and had completely broken in all the lights and the windshield. She’d just started on the side windows when she’d taken a breather.

“Nah. Belongs to my bastard ex. Fuck some bar chick in my bed, will he? I’ll… I’ll fuck up his baby.”

The skeleton made an understanding noise, reaching up to flick away the butt of his cigarette onto the damp pavement. His chuckle carried on a huff of breath and a cloud of smoke, and he held out his hand silently, looking over what remained of the car with a cruel smile.

Frisk looked at his hand in hesitancy, wondering if this was the point that he was going to take her soul. She must have stared too long, because he looked back at her with a raised brow bone, tilting his head towards the bat in her limp grip.

“You don’t mind if I take a few swings, do ya? Dude has it coming, and I’m always willing to wreck justice on a deserving asshole.”

She understood, then, that she was far drunker than she had supposed when she had stumbled out of the bar earlier that evening with a half-assed plan and vengeance on her mind. This wasn’t the devil come to take her to hell. He was a monster, a skeleton monster. A person.

Whoops.

She handed the bat over without further ado, admittedly sore and winded, and plopped down on a slightly wet, peeling parking block unceremoniously, leaning back and watching her new friend circle the partially destroyed car contemplatively, the bat settled on his shoulder and his free hand propped on an exposed hip bone.

It wasn’t long until he had apparently decided on a target, and steadied his stance before swinging at one of the side windows, shattering it completely and showering the pavement with shards of glass. Frisk whooped in excitement, throwing a fist in the air, and the skeleton looked back at her with a grin, winking and digging into one of the inside pockets of his jacket with gusto.

“And we’re just getting started. Take this and get started on the tires. Only do three of them, though, otherwise his insurance’ll pay for ‘em.”

He tossed a large serrated knife at her feet, held in a leather cover, before setting to work smashing in the back window, and Frisk only contemplated the knife for a moment before taking it and wobbling to her feet, sliding it from its sheath.

The next twenty minutes were spent stabbing not just the tires, but all the seats inside and the dashboard as well while the skeleton monster demolished the outside of the car with gusto, Frisk’s laughter joining with his in her destructive pasttime. He even lent her a cigarette after she was satisfied with her revenge, standing with her a few feet from the beaten and broken car.

It had stopped raining, thankfully, but this only let the cold wind seep into her soaking clothes even more, and her hand shook as Frisk raised the half burnt cigarette to her lips, holding herself and nodding in satisfaction.

“Th-thank you. Really gets the anger out, you know… I don’t know your name. I’ve j-j-just realized.”

The skeleton snickered at this, drawing deeply from his own cigarette, and shrugged out of his jacket to drape it over her shoulders.

“G. Just G. And judging from the name on the front seat, I’m guessing you’re Frisk.”

His jacket smelled a bit like motor oil and smoke, along with spearmint and something she couldn’t describe, likely magic, but she snuggled into the warm leather gratefully, looking up at the tall monster with a crooked smile.

“That’d be me. And thanks for the jacket, but you can have it back. I’ve gotta get walking back home.”

G waved her down when she attempted to take it off, though, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at a further off line of cars. Standing among them was a large motorcycle, decorated with what appeared to be dragon skulls.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t let you walk home, not after a victory like that. And especially not drunk. I’ll give you a lift… and you can keep the jacket for awhile. You can give it back when I pick you up for dinner tomorrow.”

He sounded cool and assured, but a note of hopefulness had entered his smooth tenor, and though Frisk was hesitant to agree (they had just met, though admittedly, smashing a car to pieces with someone kind of creates a bond), she nodded nevertheless, though she did point a shaky finger at him warningly.

“Just dinner. I’m not putting out for a monster I met in a parking lot a day ago. We’re gonna have to beat the shit out of a bunch more cars before that.”

G only laughed, taking her by the shoulders gently and guiding her towards his bike.

“Wasn’t expecting more, half-pint. I know how to treat a lady.”

 


	24. Knight and Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has more than her duties on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Princess Frisk and Knight Sans*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Knight Sans x Princess Frisk, please? It doesn't have to be NSFW...

* * *

The court bustled with activity, dignitaries and distant royalty gathered from far and wide to bring news of foreign affairs and economics to the ears of their fair princess. Many cared little for her inexperience or nervousness or relative youth (there had been rulers younger than her seventeen years, she should be accustomed to her role), tittering when she stuttered and speaking behind their hands in dark corners, and Frisk, astride the raised throne at the head of the room, wanted little more than to disappear back to her chambers.

She didn’t understand why she was being put in lone charge of the court affairs in the first place… her appointed husband would be in command of these proceedings once their marriage was official.

Her thoughts soured as she thought of him, her stomach churning and cold sweat beading on the back of her neck, and she turned her gaze from the dignitary speaking at the foot of the throne’s dais, clenching her lips and forcing herself not to cry.

She didn’t want to marry him. She knew it was her duty, that she was little more than a bargaining chip in this world, her blood fit only to breed male heirs for the good of the kingdom, but… she had never wanted this role. What she truly desired was those quiet days when she was required to hold no decorum, and was allowed to run down to the stables and care for her horse and ride the countryside with her hair down and her mind as free as she wished she was.

If she could run from it all, like she felt she could on those days… with no one but the wind at her back and her companion at her side…

As she thought of this, her powdered cheeks flushed prettily, at the same moment as the person themselves entered the scene, striding down the long carpet lining the audience hall with purpose and poise. The torches’ light glinted off his buffed armor, his tunic pressed and his cape snapping crisply behind him as he moved.

Sans Snowdin, Judge of Souls, Champion to the Crown, and most trusted of his Majesty Asgore’s knights, had returned from his appointed duty in the countryside, and the court hushed as he walked among them, his head held high and his gaze set firmly on the figure at the head of the room.

He was a monster of high regard in the kingdom, noble and respected; he wouldn’t have been appointed Princess Frisk’s knight and champion for any other reason. His magic was without equal. His loyalty without compare. But it wasn’t his dedication and rigor that brought a secret smile to Frisk’s lips as he approached the throne, as he was announced to the court.

It wasn’t this that made her heart flutter, and her soul bloom with shy adoration.

It was the wry, secret smile he sent her as he bent before her feet on one knee, taking her extended hand in his and pressing his skeletal lips to the back of it. It was the laugh she felt rumbling through him, and the fond, knowing look he traded with her as he rose to address her, to tell her of his deeds and the good he had brought the kingdom.

It was the reminder of how he had kissed her before he had left for his rounds in the countryside, secreted away in their grove beside the river. How his hands had felt sliding the shoulders of her dress further down her arms… how the grass had cradled her bare body, just as he had cradled her from above.

Her flush climbed higher, his voice, so deep and calm, the same as it had been that golden afternoon, whispered against her flesh in passion and ardor, and she bent her head to hide her face behind her hand, her lashes fluttering and her other hand, so slowly, settling on her abdomen, over the life and magic curling and growing within.

She had missed him, so very much, and none of the unsure, tumultuous future ahead could change that.

If she could tell anything from the way he followed her motion with the gentle sparks of lights in his sockets, and his reassuring, steady place beside her at the throne, she knew he felt the same.

 


	25. A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Tale's case, it's worth no words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale, Mobfell, The Don's Dove*

* * *

Anonymous asked: what kind of pictures does G have on his phone?

* * *

“And here she is with Aliza, just look at the two of them… i miei angelli.”

Tale looked with interest at the phone screen, sipping at his drink and humming in accord, while Fell sneered and finished cutting his next cigar, brushing flakes of tobacco from his stained suit pants.

“yeah, yeah, ya got tha perfect mate an’ kid. stop rubbin’ our faces in it.”

G only laughed, opening a new album on his phone and handing it to Tale for him to look through (the past Halloween had been a fun one, both of his girls had been dressed to the nines).

“When and if you ever manage to woo your Frisk, pazzo, you will understand. I look forward to your incessant bragging as well! Her beauty is, come si dice… incomparable, and should be shared with the world.”

Fell snorted, striking a match and chewing at the end of his cigar, but nearly dropped it when Tale let out a strangled, muffled sound, his sockets shooting up to watch as the underboss’ face turned bright blue, the phone he had been holding face down on the sofa beside him and one hand covering his mouth.

G lowered his brows, taking the phone from him, and looked at the screen before smirking, letting out a hearty laugh and slapping a hand to the furiously blushing con man’s back.

“Ah, yes, I forgot about those! I am sorry, my friend, il mio amore is a bold one, and loves to send lewd photos to me during work. Yes… this one is one of my favorites.”

Fell looked far more interested now, and craned his neck curiously, a lecherous look on his face.  
  
“well… i wouldn’t say no ta lookin’ now…”

G was less than amused, and turned his phone off with obvious finality.

“Perhaps we should move on.”

 


	26. All Things Made Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a long overdue conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Axetale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Imagine if Aliza found a way to bring Frisk back to life in Axetale, and how stiff things would be between Frisk and Sans. They know they love each other, but don't really know how to pick their relationship back up. Until Aliza locks them in a closet.

* * *

Frisk has tried so hard to get him to interact with her, to find the place in their lives that they had left off, but Sans is set on punishing himself for the things he did, for what he became without her. He won’t touch her, after her first reawakening, afraid to dirty her. He won’t sleep with her, afraid that she will be tainted. It’s all too obvious that they love each other, but cannot bridge the gap.

When Aliza has had enough and locks them both up together, they squall at her through the door before settling on the floor, silent and watching each other through the darkness. It takes over thirty minutes before Frisk is brave enough to ask why he is acting the way he is, and over the next three hours to help him understand that she loves him no matter what happened.

He took care of their daughter, his brother, their home. He remembered her, and never stopped loving her. She was real, and gods help her, she wasn’t going to leave again before their time had come together.

It was what he needed to hear, for so long that he had despaired the words existing. He cried on her shoulder, holding her so tight she could barely breathe but she didn’t stop him, only held him back and cried with him. Met his kisses when he was ready to give them, wetted with his fading anguish and his impassioned loneliness.

Aliza let them out before they could progress any further beyond a few lingering touches and heated looks, the long years between their last contact heavy in the air between them, but that night they went to bed together, and made love for the first time in almost two decades.

 


	27. The Truth of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to tell her the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *No Dalliance Undertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I have a prompt request if that's ok with you. We've heard about Frisk having nightmares about past resets, and she keeps this from Sans. What if during their week at the cabin, she had a terrible one, and Sans woke to a petrified Frisk as he tried to calm her down from her hyperventilating state? We've seen seductive!Sans, but I'd like to see his more caring and fiercely protective side as well.

* * *

It was on the third day of their intimate getaway, at one in the morning, that Sans was woken to the sound of screams.

He hadn’t heard the sound of truly fearful, soul deep terror in years. He’d almost forgotten it, except in his own nightmares. It shook him to the bone, and from his sleep in an instant, leaping from the bed he had been resting in, beside his beloved, to search for the source of danger.

It took him a long moment to realize exactly what was happening, and he only did when he looked back to the rumpled sheets to see Frisk, awash in cold sweat, curled in a ball and sobbing into her pillow.

He went to her cautiously, afraid to wake her but desperate to save her. He knew what she was seeing in her night terrors… he could hear his name on her frantic breaths, her pleas for mercy and understanding. Her anguished, agonized whimpers and dying cries.

He was haunted by them too, saw them in his darkest dreams.

He shook her awake when she began tearing at her hair, his hands shaking around her arms and his sockets beaded with tears. He had hoped that she didn’t remember, like so many of her other pasts. The resets were difficult to acclimate to, after all, and she had gone through relatively few compared to his own experience with them.

He had hoped so fervently that she wouldn’t remember what he had been forced to do to her. He had hoped she would never fear him, now that she posed no threat to the world. His soul ached at the realization of what she had, most likely, been struggling with for years.

It had taken nearly a decade, and a long struggle with alcoholism, to only mostly overcome his own recollections of the demon’s genocide. Of the feeling of killing his own mate.

He couldn’t imagine how she had dealt with it.

He held her as she woke and gasped for breath, as she whimpered and wept and apologized for everything and nothing, for what she could hardly recall doing, what had been no fault of her own.

He spoke the soothing words she needed to hear, that it was over and done, was the rock and reality she needed in the storm of her deluded nightmare.

She saw blood and dust everywhere, on her own hands and covering the nightmare world of her own memory, and Sans rocked her and listened, bracing himself for what he had hoped to never have to tell her.

She deserved to know, but oh, how he feared what the knowledge would do to them.

Surely, she would despise him now. Surely, she would reject him for what he had done. It had been for the good of the world. He had been forced. There had been no other way. She was smart enough to understand that.

But he saw this ending no other way than with her gone, with his bracelet abandoned on the ground at his feet and his soul breaking in his chest.

As was her right. He had killed her, two hundred and fifty-six times. How could you trust someone like that?

When she had calmed, breathing quietly and clinging to him needily and hoping for the comfort their lovemaking brought to her mind, he began. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he told her of the time long since past, the demon that had taken advantage of her mistake and stolen her body and her mind from her.

As he told her of the murder she was forced to commit, and what would have occurred to the world if she hadn’t been stopped.

She lay frozen in place as he told her what he was forced to do to stop her. Of the liquid determination he had stolen to give himself extra strength, of the tricks and deceit and fury he had fought her with. How the LV had built within him as the world turned over and over, dooming him to evidence of his crime no matter how time unraveled and reformed.

Of how her dreams were not simple fantasy. He had killed her. Many times more than any other monster ever had. He had crushed her soul in his hand, watched her drown in her own blood, broken every bone in her body.

She should fear him. No matter the influence that she had been under… he had murdered her.

And he saw the fear that he had lived in terror of within her as he spoke, how she pulled away from his touch. A track of her beaded tears swept down her cheek, and her breath faltered in her chest.

He dropped his hands to his lap, his gaze to his knees. He choked on his apologies, the explanations he knew he owed her. How hard he had worked to make things up to her. How much he loved her. He knew it didn’t matter, that she must feel so betrayed, and waited for the axe to fall.

For her to put to words her hatred for him, and put him to his deserved rest.

“…Oh Sans… Oh gods, you had to kill me. It must have hurt you so badly… is that why you drank so much? To forget the pain? I wish you had told me before, I could have helped you…”

It was then his turn to sit frozen, to not comprehend. Did she not understand? He had killed her, and she was concerned for his feelings?

He looked up at her slowly, to her wobbling lower lip and the hand she extended to touch his forearm.

“frisk. you… you do get what i’m saying, right? i killed you. a _lot._ doesn’t that bother you?”

Frisk hiccuped, one strap of her nightgown sliding down her shoulder. her mussed hair hung in her face, sticking to her wet cheeks. She brushed it out of her face in mild frustration, her smile watery and her voice quavering.

“Not how I’m sure you think it should. You said I would have destroyed the world if I hadn’t been stopped. I understand. Besides, it obviously hurt you worse. Did… did it break your soul? Having to do that to me? Is… oh, baby. Is that how you found out we were soulmates… Sans I’m so sorry.”

And she scooted across the balled covers, eyes full of pity and remorse, and hugged him. Pressed sweet kisses to his cheekbones and stroked his spine and he didn’t understand how she could be so forgiving.

Wasn’t he supposed to be comforting _her_?

He put it up to the kindness her soul had blossomed with when she had turned fifteen, bright green twisting and mixing inseparably with the scarlet of her determination. He could feel it touching tentatively at his own cringing magicks as he slowly embraced her back, urging him to feel comfort and the depth of her forgiveness.

He didn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to push her away because he thought differently than her. He was selfish enough for that much. If she was willing to forgive him, he would take that, and spend the rest of their lives proving he deserved it.

Starting that night, with an incredibly large bowl of ice cream, a few episodes of South Park, and the kind of comfort she had been looking for in the beginning, making love to her and driving both of their fears from their minds without quarter.

 


	28. Justice Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans doesn't appreciate human heroes and their audacity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frisk isn't too fond of them either.
> 
> *Reapertale Hades and Persephone*

* * *

Anonymous asked: How would the Reapertale version of Pirithous go?

* * *

(The tale of Pirithous goes as such: he and Theseus, a common and popular hero, vowed to each other to kidnap and wed daughters of Zeus, as payback for the god king’s rape, and subsequent death, of Pirithous mother. Theseus chose Helen of Sparta, then only 13… but Pirithous had loftier goals. He chose Persephone, and journeyed into the Underworld to steal her away from her husband. He was not successful, and was sentenced to be cemented to a stone in the Underworld forever for his crime.)

* * *

The hooded figure of death itself, robe slithering around his feet and obscured face on a fell wind, stood over the cowering human male, only the edge of his wrathful sneer visible to the low light. The howls of the Fields of Misery echoed in the near background, sending shudders through the “hero’s” body, but Sans was unmoved, his hand clenching around the silver scythe in his steady, vengeful hand.

“mortal… you kneel at the precipice of your own demise. coming here while still living is a sin itself, but you came with evil in your soul. you came not for boon, but for my bride, and for this you will pay the ultimate price.”

The scythe, glinting in the low light, raised above the god’s head, but halted when a hand, light and placating, laid on his arm.

From behind him stepped a literal angel, clad in white and crowned with silver flowers, warmth and spring in her every step. She seemed to exude light, silver as the moon, and Sans lowered his scythe immediately, a lovelorn smile threatening his wrathful glower.

He didn’t even try to protest. They both knew that whatever she said next would be the law he dealt. He could never withhold anything from her.

Frisk, sending her husband a quelling, patient smile, stood beside the quailing human, her smile melting into stillness. Hardness and judgment gleamed in her eyes, unforgiving of what he had done.

“Pirithous, hero to Athens. I could have forgiven your anger, for the sake of your poor mother. She did not deserve the end she received, but my husband was merciful to her soul. You should have known she was in good hands, and would receive her deserved rest.”

She looked to Sans, love and adoration in her radiant face, before looking back down at Pirithous, expression firming.

“But you hardened your heart, and sought to bring pain to the blameless. My husband would sentence you to eternal misery. Endless agony, burning in the deepest hell he can fathom. But I pity you, and the state of your soul. So you may remain here, looking upon the rest you will never have, the undead for the rest of the days of the earth and heavens. You may never leave, and never die.”

Pirithous moaned, weeping bitterly, but neither Frisk nor Sans were moved, Frisk turning away to return to her husband’s side and Sans, dark power rising to swirl around his clawed, bare phalanges, formed an eldritch sign, melting the rock that the human knelt upon to encase his legs and hands, locking him in place.

He looked down on the mortal with hatred in his sockets, hand winding around his bride’s waist.

“consider yourself lucky. _my_ wife’s mercy is all that spared you.”

And with this, the god of the Underworld turned and led his angel of Mercy away, to the palace of shadow in the far distance.

 


	29. Something Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Frisk have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *No Dalliance Undertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: So I've noticed you write some prompts for people. I don't know if you've done this particular one yet, but would you consider a scene where shortly after the monsters have exited the mountain for the first time, Sans and Frisk have a chat together? Knowing that Sans knows Frisk is his soulmate but is unable to tell her yet, it would be neat to see his more soft and doting side towards his beloved, thinking about how he can't wait til he can tell her. Until then, they just enjoy the sunset.

* * *

All was quiet and calm on the mountainside of Mount Ebott. A sea of tents trailed the paths and plateaus of the lonely mountain, muted laughter and conversation floating on the warm evening air. The setting sun glinted on the lake ensconcing the far east hills of the peak, the branches of the forest to the west swaying in the light breeze.

And above it all, before the entrance to the caverns below, a skeleton sat alone, swinging his feet over the edge of a crag and leaning back on his hands.

Footsteps, small but scuffing against stone chips and chunks of dirt, echoed off the edge of the mountain, heralding the approach of someone to interrupt the monster’s repose, but the skeleton didn’t move, not even to take his searching sockets off the horizon.

He said nothing, as the intruding person came to a stop at his side; he kept his silence even as they sat beside him, scooting to the edge of the bluff to join him in his rest.

There was further quiet for a long, easy moment, the trickle of rivulets from the snow-capped peak and the chirping of birds all to herald the sinking sun, before the skeleton’s companion, a small human girl, finally broke the silence, tearing her gaze from the far-off city of New Ebott and to her friend’s skeletal profile.

His seemingly ever-present smile was gentle and sincere, sockets hooded and restful. He looked… peaceful.

“Sans? What are you looking at?”

The skeleton monster, finally breaking from his reverie, blinked and spared the human girl a glance before looking back to the scenery, the rolling hills and wide, unending sky. He raised a hand, shifting his weight, to circle the shape of the setting sun, as though to capture it in his grasp. Shadows flitted across his ivory visage, stark black to the oranges and reds of the heavenly orb.

“everything. it’s so big… i could never have believed it. i thought we’d be trapped down there forever.”

His deep, calm voice was as restful as his expression, filled with wonder and worshipful gratefulness. He hadn’t thanked her, like so many other monsters had. She knew what this meant to him, of course. How he had given up on ever seeing this sight, smelling fresh air or just simply being… free.

He didn’t have to thank her, it wasn’t his style. She knew, and smiled at him in understanding before turning back to the far-off scenery, kicking her feet and looking down over her many friends, the monsters that had become her family.

There were so very many of them… that had been trapped for so long. Their sheer joy was breathtaking, even more than the sunset she had seen so many times, taken for granted for so long. Their happiness was a song on the air, breathing magic back into the earth and the sky and…

“hey.”

Frisk jolted, turning away from her contemplation to meet Sans’ expectant gaze, soft white, magical irises floating within his otherwise empty sockets. She had been unnerved by that gaze, once. Now, she knew his bony face only as one of her greatest friends, a lazy comedian and a practical jokester and a kind, understanding monster that had traveled with her on her whole journey, encouraging and supporting her every decision.

Once he saw he had her attention, Sans jerked his head behind them emphatically, gesturing at the entrance to the Underground.

“i never asked… but kid. why’d you come to the mountain? the other humans told us legends. that your people thought the mountain was cursed. that no one came back from there alive.”

That was pretty heavy. Really heavy, especially considering the severity of the answer. Frisk, curious smile fading, turned to consider her scuffed, scarred knees, plucking at the edge of her new, far less dirty sweater in thought.

She hadn’t told anyone why she had climbed the mountain mere weeks before. Not even Asriel, in their last goodbyes. The fact that her reasoning had been so close to Chara’s had thrown her off completely, her new life under the mountain fading in the wake of what had driven her down there in the first place.

If there was anyone she could tell, though, it was Sans. He’d always understood, and she had a feeling he’d understand this too.

She’d felt the despair in his soul when she’d saved him, had felt the same hollowness that had taken over her entirely before she climbed the mountain. He _knew_ what it was like. He would understand.

“…I didn’t plan to come back.”

He didn’t look surprised, but concern still lowered his bony brows over his narrowed sockets, a rush of air leaving him in the wake of his questioning. He looked her over slowly, sadness and empathy weighing on his soul.

She was too young to have considered ending it all… what had happened to her, to drive her to such lengths?

“frisk… stars. this isn’t the place or time to ask, but…”

Frisk cut him off with a firm jerk of her head, scowling and blinking back the tears in her eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to move on.”

He had been expecting that too, and sighed, turning to look again over the horizon. He tapped the fingers of one hand on the edge of the cliff they sat on, though, skeletal grin a flat line of consideration.

“i get that. you don’t have to say anything now. …one day, though. i think it’d be better to get it off your chest. keeping secrets is hard.”

His advice made her roll her eyes, and she sent the monster beside her a sarcastic look, lips quirked and one brow raised.

“Like all the ones you keep?”

Sans smiled at that, chortling and knocking his elbow against hers gently. He’d invited her into his secret world more than she knew, more than he ever had anyone else, even his brother. She knew a great deal more about the life he’d rather forget than Asgore could imagine in his wildest nightmares.

Gaster. The true lab. The experiments, the wrong they had all done just trying to escape. The determination extractor. His own machine. But even she only knew so much. There was so much more… so much he himself could hardly bear to recall.

A flash of blood on stone and bone and glass filled his vision, vengeance and apathy and the smell of death and ozone and the end of the world choking him. He shook it away, practiced and accustomed to its harsh memory, but his soul twisted still, punishing him yet.

One day, perhaps, it would no longer hurt. He suspected otherwise, and could hardly fault it. It was a betrayal of the worst sort, what he had done. He could make his excuses all he wanted…

He had still murdered his soulmate, resets or no, necessary or not. He’d never escape the guilt, he was certain of that.

“heh. yeah. like those.”

He was quiet for a moment, foul recollection weighing him down and poisoning the air between them, before he hummed, glancing at the human girl from the corners of sockets.

“…tell ya what. for every secret you tell me, i’ll tell you one.”

Frisk looked even more skeptical of this, snorting and narrowing her lips.

“I don’t believe you. You’ve never told me anything about yourself. Anything true, at least.”

Sans, grin betraying his culpability, pressed a hand to his hollow chest, attempting to appear wounded by the accusation.

“ouch. c’mon, that’s not true. told you i love my bro.”

“Anyone could tell that.”

“still a fact, though.”

She could hardly refute that, and stared at him hard for a moment, considering and hesitant. Sans was about to renege on his offer, too, aware that she likely wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened, before she, with a now familiar expression of determined resolve, straightened her back and faced him head-on.

“…fine. I don’t have a family. I’ve lived on the street since I was little, and came to the mountain because I had nothing else left. Your turn.”

Sans, expression giving away nothing, considered her in silence before speaking.

“i’m a pisces.”

A shove to his shoulder and a frustrated, annoyed glare.

“You’re a jerk, Sans.”

He couldn’t help snickering, leaning into her push dramatically before shrugging and winking.

“yeah, pretty much. but i was just jokin’ around, gimme some credit here.”

Frisk, again disbelieving, snorted and leveled a flat look of impatience at the skeletal jokester, flushed with her bravery at admitting her greatest moment of weakness.

“Okay, so tell me then.”

Sans, laughter fading, looked over her firm, unmoving expression before nodding and looking back to the sunset, the last edge of the sun slowly sinking beyond the far-off mountain range beyond the sprawling city. 

His sockets lingered on the first dawning star.

“i know about the resets.”

The air was heavy with implication and dread, in that moment. Frisk froze, shoulders hunching; she couldn’t seem to look away from his expressionless profile, stock still and guilt-ridden.

She hadn’t thought anyone knew. About all her mistakes, all her trial and error. The embarrassing failures. …the many, many deaths, at the hands of her dearest friends.

Sans knew, though. She should have known, she supposed… he seemed to know just about everything.

“…Oh.”

Sans sighed, shaking his head, and looked back at her carefully, taking her crushed expression, the embarrassment and pain and heartache. He was understanding. He was forgiving. He reached out a hand, and placed it on her drooped shoulder, patting and offering comfort…

And seeking it as well. She wasn’t the only one hiding dark secrets.

“you died. a lot. more than most of the other kids withstood. but you forgave them all. you forgave them, and saved us. …why? we killed you. mercilessly.”

She didn’t seem to notice his inclusion of himself among her murderers. He didn’t know whether to be grateful of that and continue to assume she didn’t recall, or wonder at what she remembered of her genocide. He took solace in the fact that she had never flinched away from him, after her true reset. Had never looked at him with fear.

That was the last thing he wanted. He would have accepted coolness, expected it even. It had never come. She had shaken his hand… laughed at his tired jokes… trusted him enough to talk with him alone. Stood tall while he judged her (as though he had the right, after what he’d done).

The fear had never come, saying nothing of her sheer love for the monsters of the Underground, her star sent Mercy. He could only assume she didn’t remember what he had done… that the demon had been in full control after all.

Good. He didn’t want her to ever know.

And even despite all the good she had done on this run, how much she had sacrificed to save them _all_ , she looked ashamed, tucking her legs within her arms and burying her face in her knees.

Her tiny body shook, with tears and fearful recollection.

“They were only doing what they thought was right. I understand. I… I remember accidentally killing a Froggit, before I understood. I’ve never felt so horrible. I didn’t mean to. I reset, and fixed it. I couldn’t live like that, with blood on my hands. I couldn’t stand the power it gave me.”

Definitely didn’t remember the genocide, then. He envied her, honestly. He was glad of his resolution to not hold it against her, after discovering the influence of the twisted, corrupted spirit of the first fallen human within her.

He was glad that he could scoot closer to her, sling an arm around her, and hug her how she needed in this moment, with tears breaking her voice as she tried to explain. There was no restraint. There was no resentment. Only understanding, and a clearing of air that they owed each other.

At least in partiality. But if she didn’t remember… she didn’t need to. It wasn’t for him to push guilt on her. It hadn’t been her fault. None of it had been.

“you’re a good girl, frisk. you’ve got more than determination, you have kindness and generosity in you that other people simply lack. i knew you were better than what was expected of you.”

She was the angel that they had all been waiting for, for more than a millennia. She had been prophesized to be their savior… but none could have known how truly kind she would be. She was more than a guiding light, she was a friend and ally. She was their Hope and their future.

She was certainly his, and he wasn’t afraid of that day coming for them. It was far, far in the future, and entirely subjective (never again would fate dictate their world; the choice would be hers, all hers), but he could tell, even now, that it would be effortless on his end.

Falling in love with a deity of benevolence and mercy would be as simple as breathing.

One day. For now… there was their freedom and friendship and the wide, wide world to consider.

Frisk, tucked under his arm, raised her head and glanced at him with tear filled eyes, her cheeks flushed and her breath catching in her chest. She hesitantly leaned against him, hugging her knees all the tighter.

“Thank you…”

He smiled, shuttering his sockets and leaning against her as well, before raising his hand and ruffling her hair, chuckling when she batted at his phalanges.

“things are gonna be tough. it’ll be easy to give up. but i don’t think you will. you’re made of stronger stuff than that.”

She giggled and sat up straight, letting her legs fall into a fold. Her determination surged, confidence and levity in her renewed brightness.

“Hehe… yeah. There’s a lot of work to do.”

Sans wouldn’t have expected any other answer. He nodded, his arm falling from her shoulders to support himself again. He checked his phone, the several curious texts from Papyrus and the time, before turning his sockets to the sky.

The stars were coming out, slowly but surely, the cycle of the world and the universe turning as it should.

“and i’ll be there for you. didn’t do the best job protecting you down there… for my own reasons. but i don’t have those anymore. weren’t all that great in the first place. i’m gonna be there for you up here. no more running to the mountains.”

He turned his head to wink at her before once more turning to the sky, to the heavenly bodies beloved of his people.

“you’ve got people to rely on now.”

Frisk watched him in silence for a second, tilting her head and frowning slightly.

“Sans? Are you okay?”

His smile was unmoving, his sight not on the stars, but the space between, on the time to come. It was going to be hard, harder than he’d admitted to her. He knew it already, could feel it in his bones, in the sins clinging to his back.

But he could _feel_. For the first time in so long, he could feel, could look forward, could truly _live_.

“better than i’ve ever been, bud.”

And that was all he’d ever wanted.

“better than i’ve ever been.”


	30. Chained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And he's never been angrier.

*Reapertale Hades and Persephone*

* * *

anonymous asked: I imagine the Reapertale version of Sisyphus is Frisk immediately notices Sans hasn't returned and everyone starts looking because she's pregnant and nobody wants her angry.

* * *

(The Greek myth of Sisyphus tells the tale of the man himself, King of Ephyra and bastard extraordinaire. He was an infamous liar and cheat, and frequently killed diplomats and guests without provocation, making him not just an enemy of Zues, but Hades as well. The part of his myth in reference here details Sisyphus’ betrayal of the god king Zues by giving away one of his greatest secrets, and being punished by being sent to the Underworld to be chained by the lord of the dead, made to suffer for eternity. He tricked Hades, though, and chained him up instead. While trapped, the cycle of death halted. The old suffered, sacrifices to the gods could not be made, and the world shook under the imbalance of the elements. Hades was freed at the requirement of the gods eventually, and when he perished, was sentenced to forever push a boulder up a hill that always rolled back to the bottom at the last moment, crushing him in the process.)

* * *

Frisk paced before the empty throne, one hand on her rounded belly, the other clutching the silver and moonstone necklace around her throat. The silver crown upon her brow, bedecked with gilted roses, shone under the pale light of the ghostly lanterns, and at the corners of the grand throne room, her shadowy servants watched with hesitance and worry.

It had only been a few hours, since Sans had left her side to obey Asgore’s summon, to punish the bastard king Sisyphus for his pride and his betrayal, but she _knew_ something was wrong. She could feel it in her soul, in the magic flowing through the Underground. Something was off. Her husband was in danger, and she needed to know how and why.

“Go. Find your lord, and report to me the moment, the _instant_ , that you do,” she murmured, turning to touch the bone arm of her godly mate’s grand throne, and the shadowy servants vanished, dispatched to the furthest corners of the Pit, to the borders of the Void itself, in search of Death.

Frisk, once they were gone and she was alone, let the terrified, angry tears swimming in her eyes flow down her cheeks, choking on a sob and clenching her fist around the beautiful gem strung around her neck. Her other hand stroked her distended abdomen, the life and magic growing within.

If something had happened to him, she would tear the kingdom of Ephyra to the ground with her bare hands. She would throw the king into the Void herself. No justice. No fairness to his soul. She would end him for eternity.

* * *

Across the Underground, chained between the pillars of the Gates of Asphodel, Sans roared in absolute fury, cursing and pulling powerlessly at the shackles binding him. He could feel the world suffering already, the dying calling for relief, the old growing sicker and more weary. The fields were wilting. The dead were rioting, their souls in unrest and consumed with chaos.

He could feel his bride’s worry, and fought harder, the earth cracking around his feet and the caverns shaking under the force of his fury.

His servants would find him soon. _Frisk_ would come for him, and free him, he knew. But he didn’t want her to see him like this, bereft of power and suffering. He was supposed to be indomitable. He was _Death_ , the eldest god, untouchable, undeniable. All succumbed to him in the end… and he had been tricked by a mortal.

He was ashamed, and bowed his head, clenching his jaw.

He wasn’t one for revenge. He was always just and fair, forgiving and patient. But Sisyphus had mocked him. Had chained him, and taken his power from him. He had taken him away from his pregnant wife, and that could not be forgiven.

Sisyphus would suffer for this. He would have no second life, no respite. He would toil in futility for eternity, and oh, how Sans would _laugh_.

And so the god of Death waited, waited for his beloved to come for him and feed his own anger with hers (she was so incredibly vengeful, she wouldn’t let him back out of his anger this time, he knew it already), and plotted his revenge with a blatant grin.

  
  


 


	31. The Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's been gone for so long he almost forgot how much it hurt to love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the pain will be worth it this time.
> 
> *Undertale*

* * *

anonymous asked: That “finding you” by Kesha frans feels ;-;

* * *

“…you came back.”

She stood, miserable and cold, on the doorstep, tattered bag in hand and tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. He, with his hand on the door knob and his soul on his sleeves.

She looked to him, and then her shoes, her jewel eyes sparkling with misery and lost time.

“…Yeah.”

It was his first instinct to let her in. He always did, in the end, no matter how long she’d been gone. No matter what she’d said the last time she stormed out. No matter who she smelled like, when she crawled back, broke and needing him.

But he stayed in place this time, the knob creaking in his hand. He didn’t shut the door, but he didn’t open it, either.

She’d said she would never come back, last time, those years ago. _Years_. Her hair was longer, far longer. There were lines under her eyes, scars on her wrists and the insides of her elbows.

She’d said she was done with him and his devotion, last time.

Fate hadn’t been her friend before. He was delusional. She wasn’t the one for him, nor he for her.

She’d broken his heart, and shattered his hope of a future where they could be together. He was hollow, an empty shell. Maybe he _was_ delusional, thinking she was it for him.

What did the stars know. Certainly not her tempestuous soul, flighty and begging to soar. She’d never wanted the same things he had. Didn’t want to be tied down. Restrained or held back.

His soul begged him to think she’d changed. His cynicism begged to differ.

“why.”

She trembled, and clutched her backpack. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I… I was wrong.”

He refused to let himself hope. He stood stock still, unmoving. The stone she’d made him into, in the hope that feeling nothing would replace the hole she’d left in his chest.

“that makes what, the seventh time?”

She flinched, and he tried not to care. He knew he was being cruel, but he had no pity, at least none he was willing to show in front of her.

How nice it must be, to decide not to love him back. He almost wished he’d had a choice in the matter.

Soulmates be damned. It had nothing to do with the flutter of his soul when she came near, the burning in his magic that felt like distaste, for his own actions. He had nearly forgotten her scent. It was getting him high, he could tell.

Damn her. Damn _him_.

She sniffled, and shuffled a step closer. His grip on the knob tightened.

“It… I-It does. And I know I don’t… I don’t deserve another chance. But I… I’ve always been wrong. From the start. You weren’t trying to control me. You were always so patient. Always so kind, and giving. Even when I cheated on y-you. Even when I… when I said…”

He held up a hand.

“i remember. i don’t need to hear it again.”

He had to be brusque. He could feel the ice around his heart melting already, like it always did when she cried. He needed to decide, and soon, if he was going to let her in or give her what she wanted those years ago and push her away.

The longer he stood there and melted for her all over again, the less it would be his decision.

She hiccuped, whimpering and shaking. She finally looked up at him, and tried to smile. Her pain and misery sent a jolt of regret through him.

“…Of course. But… but I wanna… I _want_ it, this time. Not because I’m lonely. Or because you’re some level of stability. I’ve missed you. Missed you so much it hurts. We were friends, _best_ friends. We _had_ something, something I never knew I needed. Please… Sans, I… I want what we had…”

He scowled, the hardest that he could. He hurt so much, ached and pined for her. The wounds of her repeated rejections were raw all over again. He’d wanted her to say this to him for almost a decade.

He felt numb, and like his very magic had been set on fire all at once.

“why should i believe you? what if i don’t want this anymore? you were gone, for _nine and a half_ _ **fucking**_ _years_. what if i’ve moved on? i could have someone waiting for me that actually cares about me.”

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t, and he knew she knew that too. There had never been anyone but her for him.

She shrank in on herself, like he’d reached out and physically hit her.

“…If you do, th-then I’m happy for you. I… I want that, now. Now that I know its… its not all about me. And if… if you really don’t want… me… I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again, I promise.”

She stood waiting, for the first time putting the reins in his hands. She was clearly hopeful, but he was unprepared for the rush of emotion he felt, the _clear evidence_ of her improvement.

His hardened mind and icy memory of the time she was gone pressed him to be strong, to shut the door and hurt her how she had hurt him. But his soul, his stars damned _**bleeding**_ soul, begged him to let her prove her words.

Why… why did he always take her back?

“it’s not that simple, frisk. things aren’t gonna go back to how they were before just because you show up spouting sonnets. i don’t trust you. i barely know you anymore. give me one good reason why i should open myself to getting gutted by you again.”

She shivered, her entire frame wavering. She hugged herself, and smiled sadly.

“Because I love you.”

And there it was. The piece de resistance, the trump card. He was gone, the ice a puddle around his slippered feet, the door thrown open and her bag in his hand.

He felt like he should feel ashamed for caving over three words. He felt like he should have made her work for it harder, at the very least. But he hadn’t, and didn’t intend to.

No, it wasn’t going to all be roses and truffles. They had a lot of work to do, and a lot of time to make up for. But he was willing, and almost as determined as she could be. Because for all the things she had said to him, all she had done…

She had never said those three words before, not to him, and he’d been waiting to hear them for what felt like his entire life.

Perhaps fate was right in the end.

 


	32. A Lamia's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are more to monsters than meet the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even ones that like to sleep in front of the fireplace.

* * *

Kaleia: I don't know if someone ask you this or I did. Cause I can't remember. Have you tried a Lamia Sans with a frisk?

* * *

A lamia is a terrifying thing to stumble upon under any circumstance. They are monstrous things, fabled to steal and eat children and to hypnotize beautiful humans into obeying their wont and whim. They are gifted magicians, with the tails of serpents and the voices of angels, capable of imitating over thousands of sounds and voracious for gold.

The night she finds him, though, he only wants one thing… warmth.

It was a hard winter, especially living in the mountains. The nearest village wasn’t far off, only five minute’s drive down the winding dirt road, but the storm that day was horrendous, and the snow was piled up high. The wind was high, as Frisk sat before her fireplace, knitting some new socks and listening to some music, so it took her some time before she even heard the plaintive scratches at her door.

And when she did, she ran to find her shotgun.

Her world was one of old magic and monsters, and a knock on the door at this hour could come from anything from a werebear to an honest to the stars vampire. So imagine her surprise when she opens the door a crack to find, curled on her doorstep and looking up at her plaintively, some sort of half skeleton, half snake… thing.

Her first instinct is to shoot. She’s met some snake creatures before, and none were friendly. But this one only shivers, sluggish and bluer than should be healthy, and begs to sleep by her fire.

Only for the night. He swears it on his own skin. He wants nothing but to survive the cold.

And the kindness in her soul allows no other answer but yes. She assumes that she’ll be devoured before she can wake the next morning, but she helps him inside (he’s as cold as ice, and thin, so very thin, even for someone that was half skeleton), and settles him beside the fire, and bundles him in blankets and offers him the last of the meat from her dinner, heated in the microwave and popping with fats.

He looks just as hesitant, but accepts it without a word, and both settle in to sleep the blizzard away.

Frisk wakes in a state of panicked alarm, expecting to be under attack or at the very least poisoned… but the snake thing is already gone, blankets folded neatly on her chair and the plate she’d given him washed.

And on the countertop, a small pile of gold pieces, and nothing more.

She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the winter, though she often wonders if he did indeed survive. It isn’t until early spring that the gifts begin to appear on her doorstep.

They start small. Woodland flowers, lilacs and orchids. Edible herbs, fresh and new with the season. When summer comes, berries and fruits. Shiny tokens, pretty ribbons. She wonders if one of the men from the village has taken a liking to her, until she spies a winding snake trail in the dirt outside the cabin.

She supposes she could have a worse guardian (or suitor, she isn’t sure of his intent), so she decides to leave him a few things in return. An umbrella, when the rains begin. Fresh bread, and spiced cider. She even attempted to give the gold back, but found it slotted back under her front door the next morning.

She bought him an Easter ham with it instead (and paid off her land taxes for the next five years, _damn_ gold was valuable).

After that, he decided that he trusted her enough to show himself. He liked to hang around the sunny glade a few hundred yards from her woodshed. It had a lovely crystalline pool that he liked to lounge in, a large rock that she saw him sunning himself and reading on quite often, and bushes and small wildlife aplenty. He had a cave as well, cool and dark and remarkably clean (he had invited her there sometime in June; it had been a lovely respite from the surprising heat), and stuffed with soft things and water damaged books and none of the bones or refuse she had expected.

It was when he started to let her close that he started to speak to her. She knew he could speak, well and fluently (for some reason, she had thought he would hiss his ‘s’ sounds), but he was knowledgeable and conversational, with a surprisingly clever twist to his words that made her laugh more than once.

She came to learn, through conversation and a little research on the internet, that his name was Sans (“just sans, no surname.”), and he was what was referred to as a lamia, birthed from the union of a dracolich and a water serpent. Most lived in nests together, anywhere in number from five to fifty, but he had chosen to live alone, far inland.

He never elaborated why, and Frisk never asked. He tended to avoid things he didn’t want to discuss, and sometimes disappeared for days afterwards if she touched a nerve.

She didn’t want him to run off on her. She was beginning to highly value his company, and missed him greatly when he wasn’t around.

As summer turned to fall, she knitted him a sweater. Soft yarn, just how he liked, but hardy and thick and long enough to reach a good foot over his azure and silver scales, to bear the brunt of both wear and cold. She worried about the winter, as he was far from his family, despite his insistence not to fret over him.

So much so, that when the first frost came, she trekked all the way to his cave to invite him to stay with her for the winter.

He hadn’t known what to say. He tried to insist that he would be fine, but she wouldn’t hear it. He could pay her if he wanted. She just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t end up like he had the year before. She… she cared, too much to chance him freezing to death.

He had never been quieter, than when studying her in that moment. She felt as though she was being judged, in the oddest, deepest way she had ever been.

He must have found what he was looking for, because he followed her to her cabin without complaint… and never left.

Love is an odd thing to find, with a magical, eldritch creature. It didn’t occur to her that she was falling for him until she was already in too deep to swim to the surface and live. She tried not to focus on the how, though.

Those sorts of things didn’t matter, in the end.

What did matter was how her heart pounded when he read to her and curled around her chair before the fire and when he played with her hair, fascinated and tactile. What mattered was how much he liked her blush, and how large his hand was when he held hers, and the feeling of his scales against her feet when he coiled around them for warmth.

What mattered was the way he said her name, and the way his sockets glowed when she said his.

No, he never left, after that winter. She didn’t want him to, and he didn’t want to leave her side either.

 


	33. Lend Me Your Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has been waiting for her call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He just didn't expect the circumstance that led to it.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale*

* * *

Yo! How's it hanging, banana? So I know you probably get a lotta asks about drabbles and whatnot, and I'm kinda expecting this one to be drowned in hundreds of others like it. But! If it does so catch ya fancy, would you be interested in showing us the first time that CA Frisk called Sans for him to be her "metaphorical ear?" Would he be an emotionally supportive pal, or would he give her the cold hard facts that she might need to hear? Just curious s'all. Stay appeeling, banana. You da real MVP

* * *

He’d been expecting the call, when it came. He’d been a little nosier than he’d promised, poking around in her business, and knew just how much trouble she was in, how much help she needed. It must have taken quite a bit of humbled pride, for her to put her life’s work into his hands, and he knew it, and took pity on her.

He wouldn’t rub it in… too much.

“well if it isn’t frisk. how’re you doin’ this fine evening, beautiful?”

He twirled back and forth in his desk chair, propping his shoes on the top of his desk. The office was quiet and dark, for once; most of the men have gone home, nothing planned for the evening but some paperwork and a tall glass of whiskey. The call was the bright point of his night, and her shuddering sigh from across the line brought a real, contented smile to his face.

“I’m… I’m okay. I… how are you.”

He can tell she’s trying to be formal and detached, but he doesn’t mind, and lets out a quiet chuckle, tapping ash from his cigar into his ashtray. She was calling to ask for a favor. She’d have to be more personable at some point.

“better now. hearin’ your voice always makes my day, sweetheart. now what can i do for you? need some company for the night? ‘m happy to oblige…”

He already expects her negative splutter, only wishing he could see the blush on her cheeks himself.

“ _No_. I… ugh. Look, I… I needed to ask… for something.”

His grin is a little sharper at the edges, the swing of his chair stilling. He took no joy in her struggle, or the pressure it put on her… but any excuse he could find to get closer to her, to have that no become a yes one day, to have her give him a chance to show her he was more than just a mob monster, was one he would gladly take.

“now what could that be, i wonder. lay it on me, baby doll…”

She’s silent for a moment, long enough for his smile to fade a little. And when she does speak, it’s with a break in its timbre that wipes his grin away entirely, tears filling her tone that wrench at his soul.

“Could… could you come meet me at the Sunset Diner? I… I got lost, and something happened, and I’m… I’m alone, and they took my wallet, and I’m scared, Sans… I couldn’t remember anyone else’s number, you’re the only person I could call, I’m s-sorry…”

He’s enraged at himself for thinking to manipulate her, already standing and pulling on his suit coat, smoking cigar forgotten in the ashtray. Who would _dare_ to rob her on his turf? Who would fucking _**dare**_?! He’d put an axe over their heads before the sun rose. He’d have every single monster in his employ out looking for them, and he’d pull the trigger on them himself.

He breathed out a savage growl, protectiveness and acrimony surging… before he remembered she was waiting for his reply, and pushed his anger down, down, down, where she wouldn’t ever see it.

She was depending on him, even if he was clearly her last resort. He wouldn’t muddy this up for them, not for the sake of his temper, not for the sake of _anything_.

“you should have called me sooner, frisk. i’d have been there in a second. are you hurt? are you safe?”

He didn’t ask what had happened. She could tell him once he was there, once he had called the quiet sobs he could hear through the speaker of his phone. He buttoned his coat one handed, shushing the whimpers she let out.

“I-I-I’m okay, I’m just shaken up a bit, they had guns and I didn’t bring mine, I was just going for a walk, I thought it’d be okay…”

They had pointed _guns_ at her. He was livid, the lightbulbs in his ceiling fan shattering in his surge of magic, but he calmed his fury as best he could, soothing her and preparing to teleport to the diner she had named. Oh, he’d find the fuckers _himself_. He’d put them through the damn wringer before he gave them the peace of death.

He wished she would listen when he advised her to move out of that shit neighborhood… safe accommodations indeed.

“it’s okay, honey, it’s okay. i’m on the way now, alright? just sit tight, you’re okay.”

He didn’t hang up until he saw her, sitting on a curb outside the brightly lit, dingy diner. She had a bloody scrape on one cheek, and dirty tear streaks on her cheeks, but he held out his arms for her, rage buried deep in his soul until he needed it, and held her when she threw herself into his embrace, petting her hair and swaying in place with her.

It was the first night she let him talk her into taking her to his home. She looked like heaven against his sheets, when he helped her into his bed, but he didn’t join her, only kissing her forehead and leaving her to rest. He didn’t even consider the fact that he finally had her in his bed, as he walked down the hallway, gaze set on the buttons on his cell phone.

All he knew was the scent of her blood, the sound of her fear, and the revenge that consumed his soul.

There were three culprits, monsters selling drugs on his land that got off on scaring and abusing human women. Only one survived his finding them, and only long enough to regret harming his woman.

 


	34. A Tale Far Older than Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A love truly meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hades and Persephone Reapertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: More Hades x Persephone?

* * *

He felt himself fall the moment he heard her sing.

As the fallen god, the cast away, the dregs of the immortal kingdom, he knew the feeling well, falling. The give away of gravity, the rush of the unknown. The pit that spread around his feet, swallowing him up whole.

It was a different sort of falling, when it came to her. One that he would suffer gladly for the rest of his days, for the lifeage of the stars. It was light, in his world of darkness and loneliness. Like tipping over into a river made of the sun itself… swimming with the stars.

His shriveled, black heart beat again, when he heard her sing, and he wept without care.

He dared not approach her, where she sat amongst the flowers that were her kin and kind, the sunkissed blooms that, so like her, were beautiful as the dawn. He knew what she would see, were he to come to her. The fruits of her labors withering at the touch of his hand… shriveling in his passing step, a swath of black across her kingdom of life and beauty.

And so he sat, on the threshold of his world, and listened to her song, and let it sweep him away.

He had always hated himself, the night’s darkest child, capable of naught but taking what was once alive and stripping it of all it once had been. All mortals feared and despised him. His kingdom was cold, the gems and gold and caves he was lord over meaningless. What wealth and lands he held, his grand palace, his hordes of loyal servants… were for naught.

He had long lusted for more… for meaning beyond his duty to the stars, for joy, the touch of happiness. For a hand at his side, taking his own and returning the love that he had waited for so many millennia to give.

The Angel of Mercy swept that love from him without even trying, without so much as knowing his presence.

He was craven, in his devotion. Fervent, in his adoration. How he could think to darken her door, even consider her giving him the blessing of her gaze, was beyond his reason, and yet he yearned, and worshipped as he never had before, and begged, of the stars and the earth and the night that gave him birth, to give to him the chance.

One chance, to know the delight of her smile for himself. One single chance, to let him love her.

And one day, late in the turn of the year, that chance came.

His angel was a strong, determined girl, resolute and refusing to be moved tooccasion that betrayed her soul. She would not be controlled by her mother, the goddess of Life itself… she would not obey the command of the God King, requiring her marriage to a lesser god, a pawn in his grand game. She fled to her kingdom in the fields, her bower of blooms and flowering dreams, and begged benevolence of any deity that would spare her her fate.

Sans was there before she could blink, in his grandest armor, his darkest hood; in his hand, he held a single, snow-white lily, plucked from the shores of Nyx and blessed to withstand even the call of his power.

If she took the flower, he told her, she would be free to come to his kingdom below, and remain as long as she wished. The other gods had no dominion in his world… they could not sway him to release her to their custody, could not invade to steal her away. She could do as she wished.

All he asked was that she plant him a garden.

A garden of rarity and beauty, to rival even Asgore’s greenhouses above. He could not touch the living, so could not grow them himself… and had long wished for company, besides his godly brother.

Would she do this, and gain the freedom she so truly desired?

She didn’t hesitate, not in the slightest. She took from him the fairest bloom, and tucked it behind her ear, and looked to him with the determination that made the soul in his hollow chest flutter. She accepted with all the grace of a goddess born, and he swept her below, to his kingdom in the dark.

They called it kidnap, abduction of the worst sort, when Life came looking for her most beloved daughter. He had tricked her, she claimed, stolen her from her mother’s arms, and intended the worst of fates for her, sequestered to the filth and decay of his world of death and depravity. The outcry was as he expected, a call for his head, his title, his throne…

But Asgore could do nothing. He had no place below, and could only advise that Life concern herself with the state of the world. Petty goddess, her tantrum and fierce rage… she stole from the mortals their harvest and warmth, turning the lands to bitter cold and ice, so long as her beloved one was gone from her side.

But Frisk, far below, had never been more content. She toiled without care, in the company of the victorious dead and true heroes. She raised a garden the likes of which had never been seen, in the Underworld nor Above, and in the small hours, she walked at Sans’ side, her fear of the darkest corners of the Abyss fading with each passing day.

There was no ugliness to be found below, but a kingdom of wealth and dark beauty, of souls at peace. She laughed, in her seat beside his throne when he told her tales of the trials he had overseen. She sang, as they blessed their meals, and danced on the night of Midwinter, when the moon was high and the stars glimmering like gems.

She blushed, when he kissed her knuckles and touched her hair, when he brought her gifts or said her name with all the reverence she so deserved, and when he professed his love for her, she told him of hers, her tender blooms of adoration and respect and awe.

He had kept from her her mother’s deeds, before the night they made their love into physical being. He had hoped she would never leave his side, and be his queen. But the night he knew her soul, felt the true meaning of mercy and selfless love, he told her of the God Queen’s cruelty and malice, her selfish mourning.

And he released her, to return above and bring life again to the world.

Never before had he known such pain, than in her time away. Four months, would she be apart from him. Four unending months of loneliness and heartache, bereft of all but the golden bangle she had given him, but the feeling of her parting kiss.

But he waited, patient and hollow, for her to return, and when she came, with flowers in her hair and laughter in her song, the long-neglected garden bloomed anew, and he welcomed her with tears on his cheekbones and humbled, adoring pleas for her to wed him. He could bide the long summer if she would be his bride, and let him love her every day he had the ability.

Her answer of yes was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and ever would.

 


	35. The Mirror's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hypothetical scenario of Dalliance in another world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Axetale Dalliance*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Can we get an interaction between Dalliance Frisk and Axetale Sans? :D

* * *

“still hoping, huh?”

Frisk jumped, turning in her seat in the bay window of her room to meet the bi-colored gaze of Sans, his smile easy and his posture loose, one shoulder leaned against the doorframe. There was only curiosity and expectation in his expression, mere wonderment, and Frisk’s shoulders lost their surprised tightness at his sudden appearance, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

She waved him in, and he took the invitation without hesitation, strolling across the neat, slightly chill bedroom to sit at her side in the window, his sockets lingering on her profile with fondness and well-hidden longing as she turned again to look out the frosted panes, the forest beyond the house’s small backyard swaying in the wind.

“I… not exactly. It’s more like… I don’t know to explain it. I still feel so out of place. Like there’s something not quite right. But then…”

She looks back to him, and he looks back in earnest. She reached out to touch his hand, careful and slow, mindful of his instinctive reactions (she’d nearly lost a hand the first time she reached for his shattered face), and he reached the rest of the way, letting her feel the fine bones, the scrapes and grain, so achingly familiar.

“But then… it’s still you. You’re just like him, so patient and loving… I can see him in you, I can feel his touch… his love… and yet, something’s missing.”

Sans held his easy, sad grin, the pain and longing in his soul locked up tight behind walls of practiced coolness, behind stony reinforcements of feigned patience. Time was all she needed… time to accept her world was lost. That this _was_ where she belonged, with him and their family.

His long-dead conscience was silent, in his manipulative consideration. It had nothing to move the greed and loneliness that so consumed him, presented at last with the love of his life, taken too early and too cruelly.

He would do _anything_ to keep her. Even lie. He’d once promised to never lie to her… but he’d never been good at keeping those anyway.

“likely the trauma, frisk. the shock, of finding things so different. i know what it’s like. we all thought… we thought you were gone. i thought… you were dead. and it killed me, all but literally. it’s hard to accept that this is the way things are now… i know i can hardly preach. but if you let yourself… we could be happy.”

His hand clasped around hers, soft and encouraging as his smile. The tears on her lashes trembled, her expression torn.

“ _you_ could be happy.”

She only hesitated another moment, fist white-knuckled on her knee and lip tremulous, before she fell into his arms, clutching his jacket and burying her face in his shoulder. She smelled like the most beautiful kind of coincidence, like the stars and flowers and everything he’d missed for so very long, but he held himself still, and rubbed her back as she wept, and sifted her hair, mahogany and so familiar, over the ivory of his hand.

“shh… shh, it’s alright. i’m a little different now, but i still love you the same. that will never change, no matter what you decide. i’m here for you, regardless of odds or time or my ugly mug, heh.”

She laughed tearfully, sniffling and rubbing the material of his coat between her fingers (just like she remembered… older, more worn, but it was _his_ , it smelled like him, like his magic and his bones and gods, she missed him, could it really be him), and scooted in closer, closing her eyes and relishing his touch.

“Not ugly. A little more fierce… but not ugly. You should… wear your hood down more often. I like when you do,” she whispered, and he held her tighter, a hidden, clever smile about his bony lips.

“anything for you, babe.”

He felt her twitch, knew her memories of the pet name and how she adored it. His hand combed through her hair again, slow, possessive, considering.

“anything for you.”

 


	36. Actions Speak Louder than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes literally <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Deaf Frisk Undertale*

* * *

anonymous asked: Banana! Imagine a deaf!Frisk, and the first time Sans meets her, he's confused why she won't respond until she signs to him.

* * *

The human girl hugged herself as she wandered down the forest path, eyes wide over her tattered scarf and boots crunching in the bare frost of the snow-laden road. Her ripped, old backpack swung heavily on her narrow shoulders and the wind bit at her through her thin, striped sweater without quarter. She shivered, hugging herself closer.

A faded red ribbon was tied in a neat bow on her head, holding back her mahogany, shoulder-length locks of hair, newly trimmed and washed. From her belt wagged a sturdy stick, bent and broken in places but heavy enough to use as a weapon, if needed.

She didn’t flinch when the branch she had stepped carefully over snapped in her wake, or when an ominous shadow flickered through the trees behind her, a laugh of foreboding carried on the howling wind.

She only paused when she drew near to a rickety looking bridge over a deep chasm, looking cautiously over the edge. She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind, the looming silhouette of the monster that stopped right behind her.

She didn’t react when he spoke, his deep, intimidating voice hanging on the frigid air with dire warning.

“ _ **h u m a n.”**_

The girl didn’t move beyond scratching the back of her head and standing back up straight, and the monster, shadowy smile shrinking slightly, went on, shuffling a step closer. A sluice of melting snow splashed on the back of the girl’s leg with his movement, and she froze, her back straight and her lower lip trembling.

“ _ **d o n t  y o u  k n o w  h o w  t o  g r e e t  a  n e w  p a l ? t u r n  a r-”**_ he began, hand rising into the space between them, but jolted backwards when, with a hesitant glance over her shoulder, the girl yelped and fell backwards onto the bridge, holding her chest and staring, with absolute shock and dread, up at the monster behind her.

She scrambled backwards, panting and teary-eyed, and sat up to wind physical words together with her hands, clearly on the edge of panic.

*Please don’t hurt me!*

The monster paused, in the shadow of the treeline, before stepping forward into the light; she only seemed more frightened when he was revealed to be a skeleton, bare bone and eternal grin all. His face was surprisingly expressive, though, and now bore a look of cautious concern, smile small and sockets, lit with fuzzy circles of white magic, creased with worry.

His gloved hands rose to spell out his intent as well, surprising the girl into stillness.

*i’m not going to hurt you. i was trying to… well, make a joke. you didn’t hear me, did you?*

He displayed the palm of his hand, showing off a whoopie cushion strapped to it, and the girl, letting out a heavy, relieved sigh, scrambled up from the ground, brushing snow from her thin clothes before sending the monster a lighthearted glare. Her bangs fell into her face, disrupting her glare and reducing its effect to comedy.

The skeleton monster smiled to himself at her bravado, chuckling quietly.

*No, I can’t hear anything. Gah, you scared the crap out of me!* she signed to him, scraping her hair from her face and attempting to fix it despite the wind’s interference, and the monster shrugged apologetically, opening his mouth before recalling and raising his hands again.

*sorry, kiddo. i hadn’t realized you were deaf. you made it pretty far despite that. have help?*

He jerked a thumb back at the closed and locked door to the Ruins, tilting his skull curiously, and the girl, eyes on his hands, nodded vigorously, stomping her boots to rid them of snow. The bridge creaked under her, alarming her with the vibrations, and Sans waved her over and onto the other side, a clearing in the trees coming into view.

He ushered her behind the sturdy sentry station located there, and leaned on its edge while she took the stool behind it, looking curiously at the many bottles of condiments under the counter as her hands spelled out her explanation.

*There was a nice ghost, and a goat lady in the caves back there. None of the monsters in there could sign, though. Can anyone else down here, besides you?*

The monster watched her sign, nodding along, before making a face and shrugging again. He looked over his shoulder, further down the path, before turning back to the curious human girl.

*just me, pretty sure. used to be our language, but it was abandoned long ago. i only know because my dad was obsessed with it. wouldn’t talk to me unless i used it, so i had to learn.*

The girl made a soft “oh” of understanding, nodding and looking concerned, her legs swinging above the packed, slightly slippery snow behind the stand.

*That’s unfortunate. Well. At least one person will know my name! It’s Francene, but I hate that name. I just go by Frisk,* she revealed, expression bright and chipper, and held out a hand to receive the shake he had offered earlier.

The monster snickered to himself, and accepted her hand, shaking it shortly.

*frisk, huh. suits you better. i’m sans. sans the skeleton. no bones about it.”

He waggled his brows, his smile tilting hopefully, and Frisk, blinking several times, caught on quickly and let out a snort, a grin blooming over her face. Sans seemed pleased with that, reaching out to rub his knuckles over the top of her head, then pulled back, his smile fading just a bit.

*you probably don’t know what’s going on, right? no one could tell you.*

Frisk shook her head, quirking her lips and looking around her surroundings.

*Nope! There were some books at the lady’s house, so I know how you guys got down here a little, but most of them were about snails or baking. Basically, I just know some stupid flower tried to kill me, everyone keeps attacking me for no reason, and I got lost in a giant empty city for two days. The ghost helped me find the way out. I think the lady’s kids died or something… She had a bunch of old kid stuff and didn’t want me to leave. She cried a lot. Oh! And apparently, I can’t die. For some reason, I just keep coming back.*

Sans’ expression froze, his sockets hardening and his mouth narrowing… but he shook his momentary temper away before the girl could see, shaking his head and shooting her a tired, sorrowful smile.

*that… is a lot. we definitely need to talk. let’s get out of the cold, huh?* he signed before walking off, instead of towards the road, in the direction of a gathering of boulders at the edge of the clearing, looking back over his shoulder when Frisk hesitated.

He smiled welcomingly, and held out his hand.

*come on. i know a shortcut.*

 


	37. Daddy Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has lost it a little, at least when it comes to Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Don Frisk Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Okay, imagine this: Pregnant Don Frisk. She's cranky, angry and horny nearly all the time. Which is pretty annoying when you're trying to run a criminal empire. Sans spends all his time seeing to his beloved's every desire. Massages, baths, foods, all that stuff. Although, if Sans was overprotective before, now he's at an all new level. Frisk's associates, lackeys and others like that are pissing themselves when in a meeting with her, the bodyguard watching their every move like a hawk.

* * *

“one step closer, and you’re _dust_.”

The cat monster, tail tucking between his legs, stops midstep, his fur on end and his golden, dilated eyes wide. The voice had come from behind him, behind the door he had just entered, and he turned his head slowly, away from the woman sitting behind the desk at the center of the room (who was, irritably and painstakingly, fighting with the cap of a fruit drink) and over his shoulder.

In the shadows beside a large filing cabinet, topped with a flowering plant that had seen better days, stood a skeleton monster nearly aflame with rage, his teeth bared and his magic alive and sparking in the air. He rounded on the cat, snarling in his face and snatching the package from his grasp roughly.

“you don’t need to be within five feet of my lady. are you fuckin’ blind? huh? just ignored all the notices posted on the way up? next time you make the same mistake, you won’t get a warning. i’ll cut your fuckin’ head off with my donna’s letter opener. now _**fuck off**_.”

The cat monster scarpered, not needing to be told twice, and slammed the door behind him. The skeleton monster growled irately, making a move to follow him, but the lady at the desk, still struggling with her drink, cleared her throat indicatively.

He was at her side in an instant, hands gentle as he took the bottle from her and opened it with ease. He bent to kiss her hair, almost purring in contentment as his touch moved to stroke her distended abdomen, the life within reacting to its father’s touch and stirring briefly, and Frisk, leaning against him and sipping at the chilled smoothie, hummed and dropped her free hand to cover his.

“That really wasn’t necessary, Sans. He was just delivering some paperwork, not trying to kill me.”

Sans grunted mutely, bending to one knee and cupping his lady’s chin in hand.

“i don’t want these miscreants’ scent anywhere near you. you are _mine_ , and i won’t have unwashed, unworthy asshats tainting your perfection with their presence.”

He, in a rare moment of dominance, threaded his fingers into her hair to pull her into a kiss, relishing the whimpers and moans she let out when his tongue materialized to stroke along and dance with hers, the way she scrambled to put her drink down so she could cling to him. He could feel her lust in the air, taste the need for him and his magic on her lips, and was all too happy to oblige when she pulled at his tie and nipped the tip of his tongue.

 


	38. April Fools!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans has always been a joker. Anyone that thought Frisk would change that was going to be sorely disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Undertale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Can I have headcanons for Frisk & Sans getting married on April Fools Day? If nothing else I can see people being very nervous or confused.

* * *

Suspicions arise the moment the wedding invitations are delivered. April the first, hmm? Everyone knows Sans’ sense of humor, and Frisk’s complete and total indulgence, if not encouragement, of it; very few people even believe it’s the real date until Frisk starts asking for RSVPs. She seems genuinely and blithely confused by everyone’s hesitance, and so the plans go forward.

The registry that is designed for the couple is also given askance, dubious looks; no matter what item is selected, the only thing that seems to come up in the buyer’s cart is an assorted pack of condiments. Sans insists it must be a problem with the site. Frisk can only laugh and shrug. Computers, right?

The date arrives. The colors assigned to the wedding are an alarming assortment of reds, yellows, and greens. No one is amused, least of all Papyrus, who has been anxious about the proceedings for months, suspicious of his brother’s blithe ease.

For good reason. The venue stated and advertised for the wedding is absolutely deserted, but for a joke written out on a poster in the center of the hall, surrounded by boxes and boxes of fixings for hot dogs. Toriel chuckles. Undyne stomps around picking up chairs, searching for cameras. Asgore scratches his head, and Papyrus? Papyrus can only shake his head.

“Mustard been a hell of a surprise, but we simply relished the joke too much to resist. Ketchup to you all later!”

A picture of Sans and Frisk, wearing a tuxedo and a glittering, golden dress, in front of a giant ball of yarn is attached the bottom of the poster.

They’d eloped.

 


	39. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dalliance Swap AU*

* * *

Shadowandblack asked: I have seen others ask what would happen if dalliance frisk fell into a different au instead of underfell. But what I want to know is what happen if dalliance was reversed? As in frisk was originally in underfell and had fallen into undertale.

* * *

If Underfell Frisk fell into Undertale, she’d be incredibly suspicious. The monsters were too nice. They were… happy. No one fought each other except to “train”, and even that was mostly ridiculous friend making. Toriel cared for her, even let her go when she wept. Papyrus was kind. No one… no one tried to hurt her, called her foul names… And _Sans_. He made no move to grab for the chain hanging from her collar, didn’t grope at her body, had no insinuations about the state of her clothes to make. He seemed… concerned for her. Worried, when she flinched at the extension of his hand. Made weak, tired jokes in an attempt to make her laugh.

Looked at her so strangely, as though trying to remember her.

He encouraged her to stay in Snowdin, a joyous, welcoming version of her ashen, blood flecked prison; he cut her collar from her throat, while she wept and feared the punishment that was sure to come with its removal. He fed her, without requiring payment in exchange. She was untrusting. She knew, despite his easy smile and respect and care, the inevitable change would come. Her Sans was nice sometimes… when he wanted something.

And she knew just what he wanted, with the way he was watching her.

It threw her off entirely when he led her to the extra room instead of his, when he pulled out a cot and set out the spare sheets. When he stopped her undressing in front of him, his cheekbones bright blue and a hand over his sockets.

The change never came, despite the not-so-secret lust in his gaze. He listened when she wept out her fears, when she confessed her confusion. Let her hug him without obligation when she sought comfort. He protected her without question, promised her that she was safe with him and his brother… told her of what he knew of the change in the universes, that something had taken her from her timeline and put her in theirs.

He wasn’t the same monster as her Sans. She could trust him. She could be free of her inprisonment. She could be happy, regardless of their connection in her universe. He would never push. He would never require anything of her but her health and happiness.

Because Sans had seen her life on the other side, and nearly vomited. How cruel his other self had been… how manipulative and horrendous. She had been little more than a pet, used and abused and cowed without remorse. He’d paid the frantic, furious monster a visit, through his mirror one night… letting him know where his mate had gone to.

Letting him know she was safe, from danger and him both, and left Fell to his misery.

It would be the tale of an abused, scarred woman finding the world she had been meant to have, the love of the monster she was meant to be with without the menace and cruelty, the growth of love meant to be in another world, and the desperation of a monster faced with the reality of all he had done and had and lost.

A story of what could have been, and what could be.

 


	40. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red has a lot to answer for... thank the stars that he's willing, this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sanctuary Undertale (Antidalliance)

* * *

llamagoddessofficial asked: Oh damn. In Sanctuary, if (when) Red makes it to Blue's world to 'reclaim' his Frisk, I hope she absolutely loses her shit at him with her newfound confidence. It's unlikely, given how thoroughly he traumatised her, but I just love the image of Frisk smacking Red upside the skull and throwing every sharp word in existence at his sorry skelebutt

* * *

She’d _slapped_ him.

Red slowly turned his skull back to look at her, the smarting sting of her determined strike to his cheekbone edging on actual damage; his sockets narrowed as he met her tear-filled gaze, his hand rising to touch where her palm had met his face.

“what tha _ **fuck**_ da-” he began, snarling under his breath at her unexpected reaction to his crossing literal universes to rescue her, but she _cut him off_ , hands propping on her rounded hips and eyes flashing.

“You don’t get to just order me around anymore, Sans. If I even choose to go back with you, that’s not how things are gonna go. _I’m_ in charge of me now.”

He stared at her, slack-jawed and speechless. He’d known she was changing, that he needed to change too; he’d been more than humbled by the happiness she’d gained, by the love she’d been experiencing without him… been incredibly jealous of how she laughed with _him_ , how she sought affection and how she spoke and the way her eyes sparkled…

He almost didn’t care that she’d slept with the pretender, the lesser him. He’d forget in time, and could hardly blame her. All he wanted was to get her back… and live the potential for more he had seen she was capable of.

How selfish he’d been. What a blind, conscienceless asshole. If he were capable of the thought of giving her up, he’d leave her to her happiness… but what remained of his selfishness pressed him to try, to show her he had changed too. He released the hand clenched at his side, practiced in hitting back. He unclenched his jaw, forced his activated magic down.

He dropped his head, and sank to his knees before her, ignoring the judging gaze and tense posture of the blue bastard behind her. All that mattered was her trembling form, the fear he could smell on her despite her firm jaw, her forceful resistance.

All that mattered was what lay ahead, and the forgiveness he hoped to earn from her one day.

“i know, sweetheart. i know.”


	41. A Little Something to the Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lesson learned is hard to unteach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sanctuary*

* * *

Anonymous asked: more anti dalliance please

* * *

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, master, please, I didn’t mean to!”

Sans stood in the doorway of his kitchen in complete shock, the front of his jacket covered in a wide spatter of chocolate cake batter. The rest covered the tile floor, spread across the kitchen in a wide arc from the mixing bowl the girl now groveling in the mess had dropped, some dark brown stains dripping from the walls, cabinets, and even the ceiling.

The brunette kneeling in the mass of half-mixed batter trembled, lowering her forehead even further as the silence following her clumsiness stretched (he had given her a compliment after returning home, having been watching her in silent appreciation for a few moments, and had clearly surprised her), and Sans, one hand rising to rub the back of his skull, let out a tense chuckle, stepping further into the room.

He paused when she flinched at his step, shrinking in on herself and choking on a sob.

“frisk… get up from the floor, you’re getting yourself dirty. i told you you don’t need to do that anymore. accidents happen. …come on, it’s alright, don’t cry. i’m not gonna hurt you. i promise.”

Frisk sniffled, dallying a moment further on her knees, then shuffled slowly to her feet, hugging her filthy apron and keeping her head bowed behind her fall of chocolate stained hair.

“I… I’m so sorry… I wanted to make you something… and I’ve only made a mess… I’ll clean up immediately, mas-”

“sans. you don’t have a master anymore, especially not me. mates are partners, friends and companions… and only if that’s what you want,” he interrupted, stepping through the mess of batter at his feet with no care, not even when she made sounds of protest at the chocolate that flecked onto the toes of his sneakers. He slid a fingertip under her chin, slowly turning her gaze up to meet his.  
  
She was pale with fear, under the smears of mix across her cheeks, but his smile was kind and gentle as he wiped the batter from her skin, soothed her hiccups and pulled her closer, rejecting her quiet, shy urgings for him not to get himself dirty from her filthy clothes.

He only laid his forehead against hers, running his fingers through her shoulder length hair (it had grown out so nicely from the uneven crop she had come with, something she admired often in their mirror in what she thought was secret), and Frisk, shaking and breathless, bit her lower lip anxiously, turning her gaze up to meet his.

“You’re… you’re not angry? Papyrus works so hard to keep things clean, and… and your shirt…” she whimpered, her hands trembling where they plucked at his stained coat, and he only grinned, shaking his head and rubbing a hand up the small of her back, calmly, slowly.

“like i said, babe… accidents happen. papyrus wouldn’t hold it against you, you know that, and me? i’ve been needing to wash these rags for awhile now. they’ve got more ketchup stains than material to them now, heh.”

She let out a quiet giggle, wiping at her cheeks with her shoulders, and gently, haltingly, lifted her nose bump it against his nasal ridge. He bumped her back, his smile melting into fondness and soul deep happiness, before he pulled back, coughing lightly and pulling at one of the shoulders of her dirtied apron; there was a flush of powder blue across his cheekbones, and a rasp in his voice that hadn’t been there before, awakened by her scent, the press of her body to his.

“now let’s get you cleaned up. pap would throw me off the balcony if i let you stay like this.”

Frisk followed him to the laundry room obediently, shedding her apron and flushing a bright pink at the tone his voice had taken. She knew he wanted her, despite his never making a move on her, and she truly appreciated his tact, that his heated glances and occasional lingering touches never escalated to more.

She was starting to feel something more than fear and revulsion at the thought of being with him, though, after so long being in this much nicer place, after his care and concern and proving of his intentions… and he certainly deserved it, for his treatment of her.

Maybe they could pass the time that their clothes were in the wash in a different sort of conversation. Actions speak louder than words, after all.

 


	42. The Hard Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans takes threats to his lover very seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much romance here, just a peek into the doings of our Mobster Sans <3
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Frans*

* * *

-Ebott City Outskirts, Snowdin Corp. Production Warehouse B, 10:03 PM-

The shoreside line of warehouses stood tall, intimidating, and dark at this late hour, the waves in the bay lapping at the piers and the ships awaiting their cargo. All was quiet in the ship yard, only a few wayward rats skittering across the gravel drives under the far spaced lamp posts, but within one of the largest warehouses, several cars were parked in the loading area, one attended by what appeared to be a chauffeur. The monster, a scarred, hulking wolf in a drab but clean black overcoat and tie, was smoking a cigarette and reading a wrinkled newspaper, and occasionally raised his gaze to a lit doorway beyond the parked cars, the sounds of repeated, heavy blows and cries of pain coming from within.

“He better talk soon… boss ain’t got tha patience for this shit on spaghetti night.”

Beyond the half closed door, more suited, shady looking monsters milled around a small inventory room, sitting on crates or growling in annoyance or cracking their knuckles intimidatingly, and in the center of the room, under a swinging, bare lightbulb and tied to a metal chair, was slumped a bloody, bruised amphibian, fins discolored and gills dry.

The fish monster coughed, spitting up greenish blood onto his ripped, stained button up, and whimpered under his breath, chancing a glance up at the monster that stood over him, eyes teary and chagrined.

“Boss… boss, please, I don’t know nothin’… I would never betray ya…” he plead, but the monster, a glowering, furious skeleton with hateful, flickering azure magic glowing in his eye sockets, backhanded the monster across the face, silencing him.

“don’t you fucking lie to me, derrick. i know for a fact that you were with the hunters just this morning. i’ve known for months that you’ve been feeding them information. why do you think it’s been so easy for you to get out and see them? why do you think it was so simple for you to find things that you could tell them? i  _let_ you. and now you’re going to tell me who put the hit on my lady.”

The skeleton monster turned away from the restrained fish, walking across the room to a bucket of water that sat on a table next to a stack of crates, rolling his blood stained sleeves up and removing his ring as he walked. He snapped his fingers at a fluffy, rather dotty looking dog monster before dipping his hands into the bucket, and the dog rushed to pull out a cigar and light it for the skeleton, holding it out for him as he dried his hands.

“you have a mate, derrick. you would do anything to protect him, i know you would. you must understand why i’m being so insistent about this. you might not have meant for it to happen. you might have just been looking for some extra money. i get it. but frisk is everythin’ to me now, and i can’t allow her to get dragged any further into this mess than she already is.”

Sans, dropping the towel on the lip of the bucket and reaching up to loosen his tie, accepted the cigar from Lesser Dog, puffing at it as he turned to face the fish monster.

“so. do we need to do this the hard way, and make me even later for dinner, or are we going to do things the easy way? i’m sure i don’t need to tell ya which one will go better for you.”  
  
Derrick, one eye swollen closed and lip dribbling more blood down his chin and front, trembled, swallowing as well as he could.

“Boss… I swear… I don’t know…”

Sans sighed, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, and held out his hand. An instant later, a set of brass knuckles were placed in his palm, shining dully in the light of the swinging bulb. He slid his phalanges into them, flexing his fist and admiring them while around the room, the other gangsters looked anticipatory, rabid and violent.

“hard way it is.”


	43. Long Past Due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has been in tight spots before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But Sans is getting tired of it.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: I have an aesthetic in mind that comes at the expense of Frisk’s health, but I just can’t shake this image: On one of her night patrols with Reggie, Frisk is gravely injured. She is rushed to the emergency room, but after finally being told she can rest and the lights are dimmed, she dozes off to the sound of the heart rate monitor. The feeling of her mattress depressing on the side rouses her, and she doesn’t even have to look up whose bony fingers are gently combing the hair from her face

* * *

She can’t see him, in the dark, through her clouded vision, but she knows who it is before he even touches her face. It’s always him, there when she doesn’t want him, when she constantly rejects him…

There when she needs him most and won’t admit it.

“You shouldn’t have come. If they find you here, they’ll suspec-”

Frisk’s admonition is cut off by a racking, shuddering cough, the pain of her body rejecting her own breath bringing tears to her eyes and blood to her lips, but Sans, laid across the bed beside her, smoothed a palm down the side of her face, wiping away the tears, the flecks of blood, and a strand of hair she just couldn’t seem to get out of her eyes, a glow of magic she knew would ease the pain glinting, like liquid fire, along the lengths of his phalanges.

He held her watery gaze as he massaged his magic into her veins, as he, without comment, worked to rock her back to sleep. It was what she needed now, not to worry for her reputation.

“i won’t let that happen. c’mon, whataya take me for, some common hood? i’m not gonna let ya get fired. i don’t wanna see my favorite women in uniform out of it unless we’re alone, heh.”

Frisk winced when she let out an unwilling laugh at that, reaching out a trembling hand to weakly shove his shoulder.

“Keep your filthy jokes to yourself, Sans. I-I… ugh. I can barely stand them on a normal day…” she wheezed, and Sans, bony brows furrowing in concern, placed his fingertips over her lips, shaking his head.

“hey, hey… i know my humor is killer, but i don’t need it doin’ its job tonight. no more talkin’, kay? sleep. i’m gonna take care of you. promised, didn’t i?”

Frisk’s eyelids fluttered, her exhaustion and the influence of his magic both swaying her mind’s lucidity.

“…kay… Just don’t get… caught…”

Sans smiled to himself as she fell back into slumber, arranging the stiff sheets around her and checking the tubes attached to her before, with a brush of his bony lips to her full pair, he settled in to watch over her sleep, twisting the ring around his forefinger and letting his grin fall away.

Something fierce and vengeful lived in his expression as he looked over her wounds, knowing full well this had been no accident. She was getting too close. Someone was trying to stop her, and had almost succeeded.

She needed him more than ever, and it was past time that he stopped taking no for an answer, not when it was going to get her killed.

“not for anything, babe. not for anything.”


	44. The Great Papyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About time Papyrus got to meet his brother's soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's had a few changes himself, though.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: Does CA Frisk ever meet with & befriend Papyrus? If you already have plans for actual CA with that, how about being stuck having to not fight her growing affection because Papyrus either rightly guessed how Sans feels or mistook them as already a couple & she couldn't bear (bare?) disappointing Papyrus? Or does Papyrus try to play matchmaker

* * *

Papyrus set a steaming mug in front of Frisk, casting a knowing look over the human wearing his brother’s bathrobe as he slid the kitchen door ajar before taking a seat beside her. He watched her with a clever smile through his undamaged socket, sipping from his own mug before speaking.

“So! You’re my brother’s soulmate! So glad to finally meet you!”

Frisk choked on the mouthful of coffee she had taken, some dribbling down her chin and chest as she shot a panicked look up at the tall, stately skeleton monster. He looked amused by her reaction, but said nothing while she recovered, only patting her back and offering her a napkin.

Patting her mouth dry and willing her blush away, Frisk clenched a fist around the napkin and fiddled with her mug’s handle idly, hiding her face behind her loose hair.

“Well. Um. That’s what he says, yeah, but it’s a little… complicated…”

Papyrus made a sound of understanding behind his mug, crossing one leg over the other and arranging his newspaper, unopened and still wrapped in its rubber band, before himself on the tabletop.

“Because he’s a monster? Or because he’s a gangster?”

Frisk stilled, flushing even darker, and raised her eyes to meet Papyrus’ gaze. He was no longer smiling, and there was something steely in his whole socket, and something dark in the cracked one.

Sans wasn’t the only Snowdin brother capable of intimidating with just a glance…

“N-Neither, actually… um. I just really don’t have time for… Have important things…” she mumbled, her blood running chill in her veins, and Papyrus, watching her closely for a moment, cracked a smile and let out a chuckle.

“Calm yourself, human. I know your reasons for resisting him. They are good ones! Your work is important, and, to be fair, my brother is not always the best about choosing the place and time to make grand announcements. Is it true he told you behind a supermarket?”

Frisk couldn’t help but laugh, her apprehension and nervousness fading in the wake of the monster’s charm and humor.

“He did. Kissed me too, right out of the blue, two days after we met!”

Papyrus sighed, shaking his head and pinching his nasal ridge.

“Of course he did. Zero tact, as always. But he must have done something right since then.”

He raised both his brow bones, his smile curving along the crack that ran down from his damaged socket, and Frisk stared back at him, drawing a blank. His smirk only grew.

“Unless I’m misinterpreting your presence in his kitchen at six thirty in the morning, naked besides his bathrobe.”


	45. Ironic, Isn't It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has been off with Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Frisk is realizing she actually does care.
> 
> *Criminal Attraction Mobtale*

* * *

Anonymous asked: CA Sans' devotion to Frisk is really something~ Is there anything like that in reverse? Like Sans is hurt or upset or has and nightmare, and instead of keeping up her faked apathy Frisk comforts him/tries to cheer him up?

* * *

It had been two weeks. Two weeks, since he’d called, dropped by, left her some present that she didn’t want on her doorstep. The first week had been amazing. She’d felt fiercely independent, and thought that finally, finally, he’d gotten the message and decided to leave her alone.

That had been before she started to miss him. Before she’d stayed up til three one morning, staring at the phone that never rang. Checked her porch every ten minutes, hoping to see his towncar pulling up the road. Started seeing him everywhere, only to realize it was someone else, not his laugh, not his touch on her elbow.

She started to wonder what had happened. And as the days went by, that wonderment turned to worry.

She told herself that he had to be fine. He was a very strong monster, that knew how to take care of himself. Besides, hadn’t she sworn to herself to keep her thoughts away from him? His attention would bring nothing but trouble to her. She had work to do. She didn’t have time for the uproar and chaos he brought her life. She needn’t worry about the potential death of some mobster.

But the longer the silence stretched… the longer her phone’s screen stayed dark… the less that seemed to matter.

That was likely the reason she had found herself at the gate outside Sans’ manor, though she convinced herself it was no more than a policewoman’s instinct, piqued at his difference in attitude and behavior. No more than a want to return the last gift he had left her, a lurid red dress she had commented on through a friend’s Twitter post.

She’d forgotten the dress, in her rush to get across the city. She tried to ignore that fact, as she was buzzed through the gates and bowed up the long, darkening driveway (”Miss Frisk… a pleasure, as always.” “Miss Frisk! Come in, come in, I’ll make ya some tea!”), tried to ignore the weight in the pit of her stomach when she saw him nowhere about the large house, his office dark and empty, his bedroom abandoned, his bed unattended and undisturbed.

She finally found him, with a gruff sigh of aggravation, on his wide back porch, seated on a swinging bench in complete stillness. About his feet were littered numerous, crushed beer cans (beer? He never drank beer…), another hanging between his fingers as he watched the sunset over the ocean.

He didn’t turn to acknowledge her, or even speak, though she knew he was aware of her presence. Knew he could feel when she was close.  But he didn’t budge beyond raising the can to his bony lips, draining it before dropping it at his feet.

Frisk, her sigh dying on her lips, clutched her hands together, dithering in the doorway before traipsing cautiously to the arm of the bench, brows beetled in concern and curiosity.

He was a _mess_. His usually crisp button-up was stained and torn along one arm, rolled up over oil stained forearms and hanging limp over his slack posture. His skull dropped lower when she stepped into view, sockets moving over her before dropping to the toes of his scuffed shoes.

His now free hand moved to the box of cheap beer on the bench next to him, pulling out another can languidly.

“heya, sweetheart. ya look good.”

Frisk, swaying indecisively and tamping down desperately on the worry surging in her soul, frowned as she trailed her eyes over his form, lingering on a clear bullet hole in his pants.

“You, uh… you don’t. I… are you… are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The skeleton monster chuckled ruefully, shaking his head and popping the top on the beer he held. His nasal prominence wrinkled at the smell, as did her nose, but he drank deeply from it, his sockets shuttering and his empty hand clenching on his knee.

This wasn’t casual. This kind of drinking came from pain, she’d seen this before. Her soul soured further, her concern multiplying and her stomach clenching oddly.

“heh… not in the way you’re thinkin’. hard to get a hit on me, sugar, even with a gun. ‘m fine. nice of you to stop by, though. tell andre you need some dinner, he’ll make ya somethin’… an’ you can leave the dress by the door, when ya go. assume that’s why you’re here.”

Frisk flushed, chagrin surging in her veins, and dropped her gaze to her feet, clenching her lips together. She almost obeyed his dismissal, an easy out to excuse her presence…

But instead inched around the bench and sat beside him, moving the beer to the floor beside her. Sans stilled, his phalanges clenching around his can, but said nothing as she settled herself, glancing at her warily from the corner of a socket.

She sat in silence for a moment, the breeze blowing a stray strand of her hair around her eyes; the sun set in similar reverence, throwing glowing streams of violet and gold and fuschia across the darkening sky. She wanted, very, very badly, to move the swing to soothe her idle nerves, to still the words she could feel burgeoning on her tongue…

But the storm that had long been brewing within her could not be contained, restrained by what she saw as right. Her heart ruled her, in the early eve and in the face of her… her…

What was he, to her? He called her his mate, his partner, and everything in between. She could feel the love he had predicted he would feel for her in the touch of his hand, in the way he always stayed. Could see his devotion in how he had slept beside her on her hospital bed, and in the way he kissed her. Knew, from as simple a motion as him brushing her hair from her forehead and behind her ear, that he cared more than he had ever said.

And yet she refused him, so often and so harshly that she couldn’t understand how he kept up his pursuit. She rebelled against the beat of her own heart, the heat that built between them, the song that rose within at the sound of his gentle laughter.

Duty, she called it. Control and forbearance, for the sake of her calling. 

Duty had no place that evening, though, and so her words tumbled from her lips in a torrent, unrestrained and turbulent as the sea crashing upon the nearby shore.

“I actually came looking for you. It’s been- I guess not too long, I’m not clingy or anything, I don’t need constant attention, so don’t go thinking that’s an invitation- But it’s been awhile since I heard from you, and I wanted to make sure… um. That you were okay. Hadn’t gotten your dumb, bony ass killed or something. And then I find you out here, looking like hell, and you say you’re fine? I don’t believe it. So- again, this isn’t an invitation, or me admitting _anything_ \- I want you to tell me what’s got you drinking Micholob Ultra on your back porch alone.”

Sans had turned to face her during her tirade, baring a long, thin crack in his cheekbone that she longed to wipe away (he looked too serious, it didn’t suit him…), and had raised both of his bony brows in surprise, clearly taken aback by her speech. She was a little taken aback as well, gasping for breath when she had finished, and stared back at him in near silence, Andre coming and going with her tea the only interruption.

The mobster looked her over in that intense way he tended towards for almost too long, clinical and searching; he looked almost disbelieving, as though it couldn’t be her there, asking for him to pour his heart out and admitting she had missed him.

A smile, warm and carried on a chuckle, heralded his admittance of defeat, however, and with a grunt and a thankful nod, he sat back against the back of the bench, throwing one arm around her shoulders and swirling his half empty beer with the opposite hand.

“hafta admit i’m flattered. kinda thought you’d be grateful for my silence. its nice, hearing i was missed. …i’m sorry i was gone, and didn’t check in obviously. couldn’t risk your safety. forgive me?”

His tone bordered on teasing, light and practiced in his manner, but his expression was soft and so touched, the trace of his fingers along her upper arm so gratifying and soothing, that she gave him the kiss she could feel him begging for, leaning into his eager embrace to press her lips to his bony prominences. 

As ever, he didn’t press for more, only lingering, breathing her in and glorying in her touch, before letting her sit back, the soft ovals of magic in his sockets flashing into momentary hearts before he turned again to the setting sun, squeezing her shoulder and humming to himself.

“i’ll take that as a yes. heh… you got no idea how great it is that you’re here. i wasn’t planning on you seeing me like this… wanted to clean up and get my shit together before visiting again. won’t say i didn’t need this… _you_ , though.”

Frisk, her heart thundering in her chest against her will, gave halteringly in to the soft push of Sans’ hand to her arm, leaning against his side and setting her cheek on his shoulder. She was just as hesitant to reach out and take his beer from him, replacing it with her own hand, but the rumble of contentment that purred through his whole body when she did set at ease her reluctance.

“Well. Good. Now are you gonna tell me what happened? I’d like to… you know, prepare next time, if this is gonna happen again.”

Sans laughed to himself quietly, rearranging his phalanges so they slid between her fingers comfortably. He leaned back in the bench seat, and kicked his feet to swing them both slightly, more content then he’d been in memorable history.

To have this every day… to come home to her, and the hidden feelings he _knew_ she had for him… that was his dream. What he had been gone fighting for in the first place.

“no specifics. gotta keep some things on tha dl, doll, you know that. let’s just say i had some personal business ta handle, and it got a little more outta hand than i had pictured. …a few a my oldest friends didn’t make it back out. was drinkin’ to their memory, when you showed up.”

She had a feeling it was more than his easy words revealed, that his misery ran deeper than the pile of beer cans at their feet, swinging in the early evening air, but she let him have his secrets, content with what he had told her. She could already tell he was in a better mood, and that lifted a weight from her shoulders she hadn’t even known was there.


	46. The Pieces of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are better broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Undertale*

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Anonymous asked: Frisk's husband's affair is revealed. The two are getting a divorce, and as Frisk is packing her things, she overhears Sans and her husband aruging about the affair and Sans' own feeling towards Frisk

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The bastard… the selfish, heartless _bastard_ …

Frisk shoved another armful of clothes into a box, angry tears clinging to her lashes and hiccups echoing through her chest. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She had been so loyal. She had loved Michael for so long. She’d put up with his shit, wasting their rent money and working while he drank with his friends and waiting on him hand and foot, just to come home one day from a double shift to find him with some tramp half her age, in _her_ bed that _she_ had bought.

He could keep the damn bed, and the house he wouldn’t be able to afford without her, and every other thing that had mattered when they had been something. She was done. So… so done. She just wanted this all behind her.

From the hallway outside the bedroom where Frisk was hurriedly packing the few things to her name, she heard her soon to be ex-husband still ranting and cursing, kicking walls and shouting at her confidant and best friend in the world, the monster that had volunteered to come and make sure the ass behaved himself.

Sans only snorted at his disparaging, racist comments, though, his shadow, blocking the way to the bedroom, firm and unmoving where it lay against the wall.

“she doesn’t want to see you, and that’s final. can’t blame her. you’ve still got lipstick all over your face.”

Michael snarled, knowing better than to approach the suave but vastly intimidating monster but furious enough to throw another punch at the doorframe he stood beside. Frisk flinched, turning back to packing her things.

Thank god for Sans. …Michael had only hit her once (an accident, he’d claimed), but she’d rather not repeat it before she could get away.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that she ran to _you_ , monster. I’ve seen how you look at her, the way she is with you. It’s _disgusting_.”

Sans hummed, cooly and blandly unmoved.

“dunno what you mean, pal. _frisk_ has always been loyal to _you_. and me? i respect her more than to put pressure on a marriage _she_ valued. there’s nothing between us.”

Michael laughed harshly.

“Sure. _Yet_. I know a sloppy seconds pickup when I see one. Bet you’re psyched she’s finally ditching me so you can get in on the action now. Have fun with the used up whore.”

Sans was deathly quiet, now, and the hallway glowed slightly, a pale, wavering blue.

“…first off, i want you to know that i haven’t killed you where you stand because frisk wouldn’t like that, and i can’t see to her happiness in jail.” 

Frisk froze, heart in her throat. She had never heard Sans speak like that before, his voice a whispered growl of warning and violence. She couldn’t see him from where she stood beside the closet, but he sounded absolutely terrifying.

“secondly, you never, ever talk about her like that again. she isn’t less for having lowered herself to accepting your pathetic ass for as long as she did. you haven’t diminished her shine, her worth, or what she can and will be again someday without you dragging her down. she will only be better and stronger for what you’ve done to her, and when she moves on, it’ll be none of your damn business.”

Frisk clutched her chest, looking down at the hangers in her hands and sniffling. Sans…

“and thirdly, before any of this finger pointing goes any further, let me make something very clear. i love that woman. more than you ever have, or will ever know in your lifetime. but no matter what choices she makes, who she chooses to turn to for love, or any decision she makes, i will stand beside her and support her. whether i’m in her life or not, whether it’s me she picks or not. that’s what love is, you sniveling excuse for a man, not the way you’ve been treating her for too long. now leave until she’s done, and when the divorce papers come, you’d better not give her any trouble.”

There was no more talking from Michael, only a scuffling of feet and the slamming of the front door, before Sans strolled back to the bedroom, silently going to the dresser and picking out her belongings from the top.

They were both aware she had heard the altercation, but neither of them chose to remark on it, for the time being. It wasn’t like Frisk hadn’t known already, or had a gut feeling at the very least.

Didn’t stop the blush that rose to her cheeks as she pulled her shirts down from the hangers, or the fond, if shy, glance she sent him over her shoulder.


	47. One Lump or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans likes his tea a little sweeter~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *No Dalliance Undertale*

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Anonymous asked: Concept: in the No Dalliance au, Frisk and Sans have lunch together in a quiet, fancy tea shop, sitting across from each other as soft music plays in the background, love clear in their eyes as they smile simply at each other and enjoy one another's company.

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“…Sans, stop it.”

The skeleton monster’s smile doesn’t waver, his hooded sockets unmoving where they lay on the profile of the human woman’s face as she gazes stubbornly out the latticed window beside her. Her hands wrung her napkin obsessively, her tea and half-eaten sandwich neglected, and Sans, letting out a wry chuckle, shrugged one shoulder, stirring his steaming tea in his overly fancy cup with his pinky sticking out almost mockingly.

“stop what? i’m not doing anything,” he said innocently, his smile curving playfully at the edge, and Frisk, her lip creasing as she bit at it, flushed just that little bit pinker that made him shift in his seat, his breath leaving him just a little hotter.

She was so stunning…

“You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face?” she whispered shyly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, self-consciously, and the monster, gaze following her fingertips as they trailed the flesh of her neck on their descent, tapped his spoon against his teacup and set it aside to have something to do with his hands, sure his own cheekbones were coloring.

“nah. nothing but beautiful… and a big smear of mayo,” he teased lightly, and Frisk, her eyes flashing wide, turned in her seat to stare at him accusingly, her hands flying to cover her cheeks in an attempt to find the culprit. He couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him at her outrage and her wild search for the nonexistent mayonnaise, which only incensed her further, prompting her to throw her balled up napkin in his direction impotently.

“ _ **Sans**_! Why didn’t you tell me? Where is it?” she complained in a hushed mutter, brushing her fingers around her mouth and along her cheeks, and Sans, his smirk crooked and gleeful, shook his skull and scooted his chair around the table to settle beside hers, the arms clacking together unobtrusively. A few glances from the other patrons of the teahouse were thrown their way, but he didn’t care what they thought.

They could stare if they wanted. She deserved to be marveled at.

One of his hands took both of hers, pulling them gently away from her face, insistently. She shot him a look, plaintive and pained, but was quieted by his expression of patient amusement, his thumb smoothing over her wrists, his free hand rising to trace the shape of her delicate cheekbone.

“stop freakin’ out… i’ll get it for you,” he assured her, his tone smooth and low, before he leaned into her, over the locked arms of their chairs, and pressed his mouth to plush lips, breathing the bouquet of her in and tasting the tang of her oolong tea on the tip of her tongue and winding the silk of her hair between his phalanges; she was heaven, too far away but just close enough to feel, and when she leaned into him, and wound one of her hands’ fingers between his, the other rising to clench in his shirt, he thought he might have risen to rest among the stars themselves.

Separating was a necessity, for her to breathe and for propriety, but it was an almost physical pain, and he refused to move more than a few inches away, reclining back into his chair and firming his grip on her hand, his femur laid alongside her thigh and his free hand dragging his lunch and neglected tea closer, onto her side of the square table.

“there we go. all cleaned up,” he murmured, leaning in to press one final peck to her blushing cheek (stars she was so beautiful…) before returning to his soup, and Frisk, breathing heavily and shifting in her seat, sent him a glance under her lowered lashes, stroking the processes of his phalanges and fiddling with the handle of her teacup idly.

“I think I need a refill… umm…” she whispered, struggling to fight back her blush, and Sans sent her a knowing, sideways glance, squeezing her hand, before raising his other to get the attention of the wait staff.

“sure, babe. i’ll take care of it.”

He couldn’t wait to get her home, and from the way she was fidgeting, she could wait either.

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